


The Dark Leaves

by wildair



Series: Brooklyn Stars [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Romance Novel, Awesome Clint Barton, Bets & Wagers, Bucky Barnes & Darcy Lewis Friendship, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Darcy Lewis-centric, Dog Cops, Domestic Fluff, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fictober 2019, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, Light Angst, Light-Hearted, Lovers' Quarrel, Minor Injuries, Missing Scene, Moving In Together, Mutual Masturbation, New Year's Eve, Oral Sex, Overhearing Sex, Pizza, Shower Sex, Slice of Life, Sweet Clint Barton, Thanksgiving, Voyeurism, Watching, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-16 15:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 24,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20851583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildair/pseuds/wildair
Summary: Ficlets based on Fictober19 prompts. These will apparently all be related to Several Arrows Later Will Be Fine. Tags, pairings, characters to be updated as the month goes on.





	1. Day One: It will be fun, trust me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Natasha hit the gym.

Darcy pulled her hair down from its sweaty ponytail, hoping for a quick reprieve from her workout. Clint had suggested that his girlfriend and his best friend do some sparring, since Darcy had been taking krav maga classes at a local studio. They both knew Natasha would still have to pull her punches, but Darcy thought she’d come a long way since she and Clint started dating earlier that year. Lord knows she spent enough time at the gym whenever he was away on a mission.

Still, when Clint told her that Nat was willing to spar with her again, Darcy wasn’t sure it was a great idea. There had been that whole misunderstanding about Clint and Darcy breaking up temporarily, and Natasha had been almost cruel to Darcy before she figured out what had actually happened. The women were working on repairing the friendship, but Darcy felt some lingering resentment; if Nat felt it too, Darcy would be in for a world of hurt once they hit the mat.

But Clint had insisted, “It will be fun, trust me!” And Darcy did trust him. She just wasn’t sure she could trust his best friend.

Her worries had been unfounded, mostly; Nat was relentless in her attacks, but every move was couched in a compliment on Darcy’s form or tactics or ability to at least block a hit. Clint was watching from the side of the mat, and he’d apparently texted Sam because the tall man had just arrived with a grin on his face and a couple hand towels slung over his shoulder.

“Looking good, Lewis,” Sam said. “You’ve made progress.”

Darcy heaved in a breath, snatched a towel to run over her face and hands, and tightened her ponytail.

“Again,” she said, matching Nat’s fierce smile with a smirk of her own.


	2. Just follow me, I know the area.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting the family.

The second time Clint and Darcy visited Emma Lewis went a hell of a lot better than the first time. 

They’d debated whether to drive or fly; much as Darcy liked being wrapped around Clint on the back of his bike, flying would only take a quarter of the time, and November weather was iffy enough that they decided not to risk being out on the road in the cold for that long. So two days before Thanksgiving, Darcy and Clint braved the madness of LaGuardia and headed back out to Butler, Pennsylvania to celebrate the holiday with Darcy’s family. 

Grandma and Pap Lewis always hosted, usually with an assortment of their friends sitting around the table, and this year would be no exception. Grandma Lewis was a prim and proper lady who knew how to let loose, and Pap indulged her every whim. They’d been a big part of Darcy’s childhood, and the inheritance from her paternal grandmother had been particularly bittersweet because Darcy had never gotten to know what kind of woman Lottie Dennis had been. Her grandparents had been on a cruise when Darcy had last visited Butler, and she was both excited and nervous for them to meet her boyfriend.

When Darcy and Clint got into town late Tuesday evening, Emma was waiting with hot cider and a big hug for each of them. They spent a little while catching up before Darcy insisted on going to bed; she and Clint had plans to go hiking the next day, and she didn’t want to waste daylight sleeping in. She didn’t even have to cajole him with promises of diner breakfast—although it helped—because he was so nervous about seeing Emma again after almost breaking Darcy’s heart that he’d have given in to any wish she expressed.

Wednesday morning, they set off early for breakfast at Tink’s Diner, the old standby where Darcy had learned to love corned beef hash, sunny side up eggs, and a strong cup of coffee. Clint was eager to try the place, having heard Darcy wax poetic about it, but when they got to the diner, there was a handwritten note on the door that said Tink and Margie had closed for the week and they hoped everyone had a happy Thanksgiving.

She tried not to let it show, but Darcy was a little bit devastated that her plans had gone awry and that she wouldn’t get the meal she’d been dreaming about since they’d booked their flights. It seemed silly to be so upset about breakfast, but it was something she’d looked forward to sharing with Clint. He didn’t seem to notice anyway, in a stupor from the lack of coffee he’d been promised. Thinking quickly, Darcy steered them towards the center of town; Joe to Go would certainly be open, and Clint could get his caffeine fix there instead. She linked her fingers with his and tugged him along behind her, down Oak Street.

“Just follow me,” she said nonchalantly, “I know the area.” 

Clint rolled his eyes at that, but he chuckled aloud when he saw the sign outside the little cafe. They’d still have to find actual breakfast food somewhere else, muffins and pastries wouldn’t be enough fuel for a day of hiking, but at least they could get a cup of coffee for the road. An hour and a half later, they were on the north side of Moraine State Park, ready for what promised to be a moderate climb; they’d stopped for breakfast on the way, and she was antsy and eager to get out on the trail.

The air was brisk and the sun was bright, and they took their time on the hike -- six miles out and back with plenty of stops to admire the views of the lake, i.e., make out when they were alone on the trail, which was often. Something about the fresh air made Darcy frisky, and although they didn’t take it further than kissing, Clint did promise to take her on a proper camping trip once warm weather hit again. 

They made it back to Emma’s house in late afternoon and sat around playing board and card games into the evening, breaking for dinner and so Emma could prep her casserole for the next day. Like their last visit, Clint was technically on call should any emergencies arise, but they made it through the night without any interruption. Worn out by the early start and the day’s activities, Darcy finally yawned too long and hard to be ignored, and she only pouted a little when Clint threw down his UNO cards and said it was bedtime.

“You’re just mad I’m winning,” she teased, but the words were lost in another yawn, causing all three of them to chuckle.

The next morning, Clint insisted on cooking breakfast for everyone; they wouldn’t eat Thanksgiving dinner till 4:00, so he went all out with bacon, eggs, and pancakes. Emma had a few more dishes to prepare, and Darcy helped her in the kitchen while Clint went on a long run to let the women spend some time together without him.

When they got to Grandma and Pap’s house, Darcy made sure to give Clint a dish for each hand so he'd have an excuse not to hug anyone right away; when he winked at her, she knew she’d made the right call, and she did her best to distract her grandparents until they all got into the living room, where the furniture would provide a natural buffer. He hadn’t had a lot of traditional holidays, and while the man was a hell of an agent, she didn’t want to overwhelm him with an overbearing family. Emma must have warned her parents, though, because everyone was on their best behavior; when the men went out to the patio to check on the turkey in the deep fryer, Pap even pressed a cold beer in Clint’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. Darcy watched them through the kitchen window as she took her turn on dish duty, washing the pots and pans Grandma had used to prep the meal. 

The other guests started filtering in around 3:00, and Grandma put Clint and Darcy to work setting the table. By dinner time, the dining room was full, a dozen friends and family members crammed in at a table that was really only big enough for eight. The closeness just made things more cozy, although Clint had to choose between having his back to the door or being wedged in by the wall where he couldn’t get out without making Pap move from the head of the table. Darcy could feel his leg jiggling against hers, with no other way to release his nervous energy, but no one else seemed to notice anything was amiss.

They broke off to the living room after the main meal, to rest up for dessert and watch football; Pap and Clint and Mr. Jennings from the post office sprawled out in the comfy chairs, while Emma and Grandma marshaled the cleanup efforts. Darcy had started clearing the linens, gathering napkins and placemats to throw in the wash, but Grandma shook her head and nodded towards the living room. Darcy blushed a little, but went to curl up at Clint’s side on the blue plaid loveseat. She saw Dave, who lived down the street from her grandparents, take over her chore as she settled in for a nap.

After pie and a replay of the Thanksgiving Day parade, the party came to its natural end. Grandma loaded everyone down with leftovers, and Clint groaned a little when she pressed a whole cherry pie into his hands to take back to Emma’s. Darcy knew they’d make short work of it over the next two days before they flew back to New York, and she hugged her grandmother extra hard for making the pie special on Clint’s behalf. She’d definitely missed out on the baking skills from that side of the family.

The three of them immediately settled in front of the TV again at Emma’s house, too full and sleepy to do anything more than doze in front of a movie. Emma excused herself halfway through to go to bed, and Darcy laid her head in Clint’s lap so he could stroke her hair while they half-watched the screen. Eventually, Clint reached over to the remote and muted the TV. Darcy shifted to look up at him, but he seemed to need a minute to get his thoughts together.

“That was my first real Thanksgiving since I was a kid,” he said carefully. “First one with a family.”

She reached a hand up to squeeze his forearm, but didn’t respond.

“I was pretty worried about this trip, whether your mom would be mad at me for what happened before, and what your grandparents would think about me, if I was good enough for you.”

At that, Darcy sat up properly, but Clint shook his head. “I’m real glad I came, sweetheart, thank you for sharing this with me. And I’m glad you had such a good support system growing up and people who care about you so much.”

“They’re your family too, now, you know,” she said with a grin. “All the drama that comes along with family, you get that too.”

“As long as I get pie,” he said as he pulled her in for a kiss. 

“I knew you were just using me to get to my grandma,” Darcy groused, flopping back down to put her head back on his knee. He squeezed her shoulder slightly, and they settled back into their movie.


	3. Now? Now you listen to me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upped the rating for this chapter.

She’d been giggling breathlessly for what seemed like hours, although she knew it couldn’t have been that long. Her boyfriend was placing tiny kisses and love bites all over her abdomen, tickling at her sides with each press of his lips, the scruff of his beard rough against her soft skin.

“Babe, please,” she gasped, squirming under his mouth and gentle hands. Her words turned into a moan as he moved down her body, nipping at the inside of her thighs. “God, I missed you.”

“Mmm, me too, sweetheart,” Clint mumbled into her skin before biting down gently. He released his grip after a moment, sucked lightly over the marks, laved his tongue over the impression of his teeth. Darcy would have bucked up against him had he not been holding her down to the bed so firmly. All humor was gone from her voice as she pleaded for more, but he was taking his time, teasing her, making her wait. His breath ghosted across her core, and she writhed in his grip again, berating herself for ever telling him she liked a lot of foreplay. 

They’d been on the phone, him on an op somewhere he couldn’t say, her lying in their bed in Brooklyn, trying to use words and fingers to substitute for actually being together. Darcy had spouted off some surprisingly dirty ideas in their various phone sex escapades, most of which they both knew would never come to fruition -- some fantasies should stay fantasies, after all. But when she mentioned that she sometimes liked a long, slow seduction, she didn’t dream he’d take her comment to heart with quite this much devotion.

When he got back to New York a few days later, he texted her to let her know he was home and that Kate had taken Lucky for the weekend. It was already late afternoon, and Darcy would be off work and on her way home in less than an hour, so she texted back that they should go out for dinner since she hadn’t bought groceries in a couple days, and that she’d meant to take out the trash and could he please do that, and oh, that she couldn’t wait to see him. He sent back a grumpy-face emoji, and she laughed as she started cleaning up her desk and prepping for the next week.

She burst into the apartment a little while later eager to greet Clint properly, only to see the trash still in the can and a pizza on the counter, half-eaten. “Wow,” she said to herself, since he wasn’t around to hear her. She’d stepped over his boots at the door, so she knew he was home, and as she wandered down the short hallway she heard the water running.

Darcy tapped on the half-open bathroom door to announce her presence, and Clint stuck his head out from behind the shower curtain. “Hey, Darce,” he said sheepishly. “Sorry about the mess.”

She took a couple steps over so she could give him a peck on the lips. “Just glad you’re home.”

“Join me?” Clint waggled his eyebrows, and Darcy laughed but started stripping off her clothes.

“Don’t get my hair wet,” she ordered.

She climbed in behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, and he relaxed for a minute before spinning them around so she was under the spray. Darcy yelped and swatted at him.

“Oops,” he said with a smirk.

“You know it takes forever to dry,” she whined, but she pulled him in for a kiss anyway. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? 

They lingered under the water till it started to run lukewarm, then climbed out to towel each other off. When Darcy reached for her robe, Clint grabbed her hands and pulled her into the bedroom.

“Missed you,” he grunted, pulling the covers back and urging her down on the bed. He dove back in to kissing her, long and slow and sweet, then with more intensity. He made his way down to her neck, nibbling gently, then down to her breasts. Darcy should have realized something was up by the way he lingered there; as much as he loved her tits, he was spending a lot more time there than usual, licking and sucking, rasping his unshaven jaw across her nipples, pinching and squeezing with one hand to cover where his mouth couldn’t reach.

Eventually he’d shifted down further, further, teasing and tasting, till his face was settled between her legs. She moaned again, waiting for him to touch her, feeling his breath as he blew a cool stream of air over her cunt. “Babe,” she panted, “I need--”

“Shhh,” Clint soothed. “Thought you liked this, you told me you like to wait for it.”

“Now? Now, you listen to me?” Darcy groused. “Dinner, and the trash, and my hair is gonna dry all funny smushed up against the pillows like this, and you listen to this one--ah, fuck!”

He cut off her tirade with a well-timed, well-placed, well-executed kiss, wet and sloppy right over her clit. He sucked for a minute before pulling off to lick a slow stripe over her pussy, spreading her labia with two fingers for better access.

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“Oh god, Clint, please,” she begged, breath hitching. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

Clint gave in, fingers and tongue and teeth working in tandem to bring her to the edge, lingering, falling over, before he backed off. Darcy panted, collapsed against the pillows after being so thoroughly ravished. He rested his head on her thigh, his own breath coming heavy, then crawled back up to cover her body with his own. He nuzzled against her chest for a moment before she pulled his face in for a kiss, licking into his mouth, chasing her own taste there.

“Now you,” she said, shoving at his shoulder so that he fell onto his back. Clint went willingly, and he smirked up at her as she straddled him. “This is what you get for being a good listener.”


	4. I know you didn’t ask for this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy patches Clint up. Fluffy fluff.

“Ahhhh, god,” Clint hissed as Darcy ran the cotton pad over the gash on his side. She knew the antiseptic stung -- no matter how often he got patched up in his line of work, some things would always hurt -- and she murmured an apology as she did her best to tend to his wounds.

The kitchen table was covered in first aid supplies, and Clint was leaning against the counter, wearing only jeans and a scowl. Darcy sat in the chair in front of him, eyes narrowed as she concentrated on her task. She finished with the Bactine and moved on to Neosporin, aware that she was probably overdoing it but knowing Clint couldn’t say anything because the wound was too awkwardly placed to deal with on his own. 

He’d come back from his last mission with a cut -- a graze, he insisted -- on his torso, a long, nasty stripe wrapping around the side and back of his ribcage. It wasn’t quite bad enough to require stitches, but he couldn’t contort himself to tend to it, at least not without considerable pain. The doctor had said he’d need daily cleaning and treatment, and Darcy had volunteered to handle it so he wouldn’t have to deal with SHIELD Medical. He was frustrated enough at being benched till there was no danger of the wound opening back up -- she knew he hated Medical, and even though she didn’t love the sight of blood, this was a small price to pay to make him more comfortable.

She patted the cream in with gentle fingers, wiped her hands, and carefully bandaged him up, overlapping the squares of gauze slightly so that no part of the cut was exposed. Before she handed him his shirt, she pressed a soft kiss right above the injury.

“All done, babe,” she announced.

Clint gingerly slipped the dark gray shirt over his head, huffing out a breath as he slid his arm into the sleeve. Darcy had already moved to wash up and start packing the kit away again, leaving out the items they’d need for the next few days while Clint healed.

“Hey,” he said gruffly, reaching out with his good arm. “Thank you. I know you didn’t ask for this.”

“I kinda did,” she shrugged, stepping into his embrace. “You know I like taking care of you. I mean, I wish I didn’t  _ have  _ to, but.”

Clint leaned back to stare at her, eyebrow raised and amusement evident in his face.

“You know what I mean, I wish you didn’t get hurt ever because I hate that part of it, but if you  _ do _ , I’m glad I can be here to make you feel better.”

He pulled her close again, tilting his head to rest his cheek against her temple. “You do make me feel better.”

“Halloween’s coming up, you know,” she teased, “maybe I’ll find a nurse costume. Make you feel real good.”

Clint moaned a little, and Darcy could feel his heartbeat hitch in his chest. “I’m gonna have to get injured more often, huh?”

“Nothing too serious, babe, defeats the purpose if I can’t have my way with you.”

He laughed, then winced as the movement pulled on his injury. 

“My poor baby,” she crooned. “Come on, let me take your mind off things.”

Clint’s face lit up, hopeful, as Darcy dragged him over to the couch. She tapped at her phone for a minute before flopping down next to him, careful not to jar him too much.

“Pizza’s on the way, and we still have three episodes of Dog Cops in the queue.”

“Tease,” he scowled.

“You love me,” Darcy answered, unconcerned.

“Yeah,” Clint said. “I really do.”


	5. I just might kiss you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy's baking misadventures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place mid-Several Arrows Later, before the epilogue.

The oven timer dinged right as Darcy skidded into the kitchen, and when she opened the door she was dismayed to see smoke pouring out of the range. Foiled again. She grabbed the oven mitts off the counter and pulled the two round tins out of the heat, setting them on the cooling rack with a clatter.

She’d been trying to bake a half-birthday cake for Clint, since she’d missed the actual day during their brief breakup, but this was her third attempt and she didn’t seem to be making any progress. He was due back from DC that night, and she’d commandeered the Stark Tower communal kitchen for the past 12 hours. She’d gone from wanting to make the perfect chocolate cake from scratch to just wanting to turn a boxed mix into a passable dessert. Only something about the temperature or the time or just sheer dumb luck was making the task impossible.

Darcy took a deep breath and turned off the oven, surveying the damage around her. JARVIS had already ordered additional ingredients twice, and the kitchen was a mess of flour and cocoa and dishes, and she hadn’t even started on the frosting yet. She couldn’t help but let out a groan. She was a capable, intelligent woman; how was she so stymied by something so straightforward? All the instructions were right there! 

_ Okay, Lewis, focus _ , she told herself. _ One thing at a time. _

She started collecting the dishes, measuring spoons and cups, the metal mixing bowl and beaters, the mise en place setup she’d read would make her baking experience go smoothly. Once all that was soaking in the sink, she moved on to cleaning up spills— dry ingredients, drippy batter, the last bits of the egg she’d dropped on the floor. As she began actually washing the dishes and putting them to dry in the rack, the elevator dinged behind her.

“J, is that my cake mix? I just might kiss you.” Darcy didn’t move from her spot at the sink, knowing one of the robots would bring her delivery into the kitchen.

“That won’t be necessary,” the AI responded. "I'm not sure how that would work anyway, Miss Lewis."

“I wouldn’t turn down a kiss,” a familiar voice drawled.

Normally Clint’s return would involve a fair amount of squealing and gushing on Darcy’s part, but she was so disappointed in her efforts that she stayed where she was, hands submerged in the hot, soapy water. She did at least turn around to smile at him, and she watched as he dropped a paper grocery sack on the counter she’d just cleaned off before stepping close for the promised kiss.

“Hi, baby,” she said, her voice wavering a little.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Clint looked as concerned as he sounded. “JARVIS asked me to bring this up when I got in the elevator. You okay?”

She shrugged, and Clint reached around her to turn on the faucet. He pulled her hands out of the dishwater, one after the other, to rinse them off before gently patting them dry.

“I missed your birthday,” she explained lamely.

“Six months ago...”

“Yeah, so I was trying to make you a half-birthday cake, but all three of the recipes I tried didn’t turn out. I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong, and I wanted to surprise you, and now I’m being silly because you’re here and I should just be happy about it instead of being mad at myself.”

“Oh, Darce,” he said, wrapping her up in a fierce hug. “I don’t know what to say, darlin’, no one’s ever made me a half-birthday cake before.”

“Still haven’t,” she said, frowning, but Clint was already poking at the cake tins. They’d cooled off enough that he could flip the cakes out onto the rack, and she groaned again when she saw the charred black bottoms. He was poking at one layer with a knife.

“Maybe we can scrape this part off,” he said, lips pursed in what she hoped was concentration but what she expected was amusement and a little fear that he’d be forced to choke the dessert down.

“I know it’s stupid to be worked up over this,” she said suddenly , “but I missed your birthday because we were— apart then, and that sucked so much, and I just wanted to do something nice for you. And I know you told me never to bake for you, but I thought you were kidding, but clearly I can’t be trusted in the kitchen, and I’m sorry you have to deal with this instead of me greeting you properly.”

“Hey, you’re not stupid, this isn’t stupid. It’s not a big deal to me that you can’t bake, except that it bothers you. I’d much rather know what you’re feeling and why, and that’s more important to me than this. Even though this is very sweet of you.”

“Okay,” she said, blowing out a breath. “Well I can try again, I asked JARVIS to order a boxed mix and I assume that’s what’s in the bag you brought up, or I could just make the frosting and we could have that?”

He shrugged, considering, and opened his mouth, but JARVIS cut him off before he could get anywhere.

“If I may, Miss Lewis, I did order the cake mix you requested. I also ordered a chocolate cake from Milk Bar, and that’s in the bag Agent Barton so kindly delivered.”

Darcy’s “thank you” was muffled since she had buried her face in Clint’s chest, but the AI responded that he’d have someone take care of the rest of the kitchen cleanup. Clint grabbed the bag off the counter and steered Darcy toward the elevator.

“Thanks, J,” he called out, “and can we get privacy protocols for the rest of the night?”

“As you wish, sir, and may I say, Hap Birt.”


	6. Yes, I'm aware. Your point?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble in paradise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fits somewhere in mid-chapter 6. Would have been good to include this in the actual story but here we are.

Their first real fight about the relationship was stupid, honestly, born of frustration and exhaustion and an overindulgence on mixed drinks that somehow evolved into two days of not speaking to one another.

With Clint’s work schedule, they had to fit in their quality relationship time whenever they could; sometimes he’d be gone for weeks at a time, and even though they usually talked or texted, it wasn’t the same as being together face-to-face. So when he was in New York, they tried to spend as much time together as possible, barring the other facets of everyday life they couldn’t avoid -- work, mostly, but also working out and grocery shopping and laundry and the mundane things they _ could _ do together but maybe weren’t quite ready to share.

And when Clint was gone, Darcy did her best to stay busy, catching up on the things she couldn’t or wouldn’t do while he was around and trying to find hobbies to keep her mind and hands and social calendar occupied. She’d joined a book club to meet new non-Stark Tower people, and she’d made fast friends with Maura, a kindergarten teacher with a wicked sense of humor and a taste for really strong gin and tonics. 

Book club met on alternating Wednesdays at a quiet bar near Darcy’s apartment, and when the formal portion of the evening petered out around 9, most of the dozen women would scatter. Darcy, Maura, and a couple others usually stayed for another round to catch up on non-Oprah-sanctioned topics. Well, maybe Oprah sanctioned them, but not as part of her book club. One night, not long after Clint had snapped at her after that rough op, a few of them sat around late into the night sipping on G&Ts -- Maura insisted, and since she was picking up the tab, no one felt the need to protest -- they got into a discussion about women who never put themselves first. Maura’s parents had just told her they were getting divorced, and she was depressed and frustrated and angry on her mom’s behalf, because her father had apparently decided to trade in for a younger model. Maura’s mother had spent their whole marriage catering to her husband, and the whole thing reeked of betrayal on several levels.

Darcy, fired up by her friend’s impassioned speech and two too many sympathy cocktails, promptly resolved not to let herself fall into that trap. She was a strong, independent woman and so on and so forth, and sure, she might _ want _ to be around Clint all the time, but she didn’t _ need _ him, or, indeed, no man. And when she got home to her apartment an hour later and found him waiting outside, she told him something to that effect.

Clint was pacing in front of her building, looking worried, when Darcy walked up.

“Darce, sweetheart, are you okay? I’ve been texting you for an hour, I thought we were supposed to hang out tonight.”

“I had book club,” she said coolly. “My life doesn’t revolve around you.”

Hurt flashed across his features, but it was gone before she realized what she was seeing. She also didn’t pick up on the hesitation in his voice when he answered, “I know that, but I was worried about you. We had plans.”

“Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

“My point? You stood me up is my point, I was waiting for you. Where were you? What’s going on with you, are you drunk?”

“No I’m not drunk,” she sneered, “I had a few drinks with my friends after book club. You cancel plans all the time for work, but suddenly I’m not allowed to do anything but wait around for you?”

Clint ran a hand over his face, frustration evident in his features. He started to speak, then stopped before finally drawing in a deep breath. “You know why I have to leave when I do, Darcy, that’s not fair. I’m not really sure what’s happening here, but I’m gonna go.”

Darcy offered him a prim “Good night, then,” and sauntered into her building, leaving Clint alone on the sidewalk, blindsided by the sudden change in her attitude.

She woke the next morning to find a slew of texts, increasingly concerned, that Clint had sent her throughout the course of the previous evening. Her head was pounding and she quickly realized it was more from embarrassment and regret than from the drinks she’d downed -- the bartender had brought a pitcher of water over halfway through the night, so she wasn’t as hung over as she probably should have been. She was, however, stupid sorry about how she’d treated her boyfriend.

Her first two attempts at calling him landed her in his voicemail, and on the second try she left a rambling message about how sorry she was and that she knew she’d fucked up. She followed that up with a handful of texts -- _ I’m sorry _ and _ I love you _ and _ please call me _ and _ I’m so so sorry _. The next 24 hours of radio silence were nothing more than she deserved, she thought.

As she was coming into work on Friday morning her phone buzzed with an incoming call, and when she saw Clint’s name on the screen she breathed a sigh--of relief or trepidation, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t help that she was in a crowded elevator and half the other occupants probably knew who she was and who she was to Clint and therefore shouldn’t be privy to this conversation, no matter what it might entail.

Darcy answered the phone with a cautious, “Hi, babe, I’m in the elevator.” 

“‘Babe’ is a good sign, I guess.” His voice was flat, and she couldn’t help but wince.

They kept the chat minimal, only staying on long enough to establish that Clint was in his apartment and thought they should probably talk. She said she’d detour by his place on her way to the lab, but he told her to just go to work and he’d see her later.

Fuck.

She was a distracted mess all day, sticking to low-level tasks that she couldn’t mess up like filing emails and cleaning the coffee area. At 4:30, he texted that she should come over any time, and she immediately told Jane she had to go; she didn’t even wait for her laptop to finish shutting down, just snapped the machine closed and shoved it in her bag.

Her heart dropped when she got to Clint’s floor -- he was waiting for her in the hallway, and he looked resigned and exhausted. Her words stuck in her throat, and for a moment all she could do was look at him. God, of course she was willing to wait for him, to take what she could get, how could she have thought otherwise?

Finally, she forced out a small hello. Clint eyed her warily, and the dam exploded.

“I didn’t mean it, Clint, god, I’m so sorry. I know I said that already and you have no reason to believe it because I said some mean and stupid things, but I didn’t mean any of that. Maura’s mom spent all her time catering to her dad, waiting on him hand and foot and never working and never doing anything for herself, and all I could think about was you getting tired of me and I’d have nothing because I’d made you my whole world, and I just couldn’t let that happen. And so I pushed you away, and it was so stupid, because I love you and you’re worth waiting for and planning my life around, and I’m,” her voice finally faltered, “I’m sorry. For what I said and how it made you feel.”

He exhaled, short and sharp, and turned to open his apartment door. Darcy’s eyes filled up with tears, and when he looked back to nod her inside, she felt them spill over onto her cheeks. Hope warred with anxiety in her chest, and all she could do was follow him into the living room.

Clint didn’t say anything as he brought her a glass of water, so only Darcy’s sniffles broke the silence. She wiped away her tears and curled up at the end of the couch, looking at him, waiting for him to respond.

“Darcy,” he started carefully, “if I’ve done something to make you think that I don’t value your time, I’m sorry. I know it’s hard with me being gone so much, and I know I can’t always give you enough notice. I guess I didn’t realize how much of a problem it was for you, and I know that sounds selfish, but I haven’t really been in this situation before.”

“Babe, no, that’s not it at all!” She leaned forward to where he was sitting on the coffee table, elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging loosely between his legs.

He gave her a pointed look, silently calling her out.

“Okay,” she faltered, “maybe it is, but I didn’t-- it wasn’t conscious. Maura’s parents are getting divorced and we got drunk about it, and we’re reading this book about leaning in, and it was all just this perfect storm that played into my, my biggest fears.” 

She huffed out a breath. “I’m so scared you’re not gonna come back to me, because you get hurt or because you decide I’m not worth it. And I thought if I could just get a little bit of distance, it wouldn’t break me if that ever happens.”

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off in one more rush of words, “And I know you can’t promise that, either way, things happen and relationships end, I just -- I freaked out.”

“Can I say something now?” Clint’s voice was gentle, and Darcy nodded.

“I’m in love with you, Darcy, and you’re right that I can’t promise you things, and you can’t promise me things either. Not when we both know what kind of world this is. But if what you need to feel secure is book club and craft night and having drinks with your friends, I’m never gonna not be okay with that, but can we just talk about it? Can you just let me know so I don’t worry?”

“Yeah,” she said hoarsely, slumping back against the couch. “I love you too, babe, and I really am sorry.”

“It’s forgiven, sweetheart,” he soothed. “Let’s get you cleaned up and we’ll get some dinner, yeah?”

Darcy let Clint pull her up off the couch, into a long hug, and tried to quiet the voice in the back of her mind that said she’d never quell this particular fear.


	7. No, and that's final.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makeup sex!

The makeup sex after their first fight was almost good enough to spur them into another argument, just so they could forgive each other again. The anxiety and tenderness and frustration and relief all tangled together into a sweetly violent coupling, both of them intent on proving their love and devotion and regret. 

In the immediate aftermath of their reunion, Clint went into caretaker mode, bringing Darcy a cool wet washcloth for her face and two ibuprofen for her headache and a fuzzy purple blanket to wrap around her shoulders while he made a simple dinner of tomato soup and grilled cheese. She woke from a light doze to find the meal spread out on the coffee table, Clint sitting close to her on the couch, TV droning quietly in the background.

She ignored the meal for a moment to press a long kiss to Clint’s cheek, holding his face with both her hands. It was as if all her words had spilled out of her earlier, and she had nothing left to say, but when Clint met her eyes he seemed to recognize her love and gratitude. They ate quietly, only half focused on the documentary on arctic mammals, and when Darcy moved to start cleaning up, Clint stilled her with a press of his hand on her shoulder.

She watched from the couch as he did the dishes, flicked off the kitchen lights, double-checked the door was locked, not that it mattered with the security in Stark Tower. She held her breath for a moment as he approached the couch, and once again let him pull her upright. This time he steered her towards the bathroom, and she waited quietly as he turned on the rain shower and stripped off both their clothes.

Finally, something seemed to snap into place in her mind; she’d been the one to screw up, she’d been the one to hurt Clint, and here she was just passively letting him take care of her. As he pulled her under the spray, she wrapped her arms around his neck, tugging his mouth down for a kiss. 

“Let me make it up to you,” she murmured against his lips. She dropped her hands to his shoulders, ran them across the planes of his back, reveled in the firm expanse of muscle there, still keeping her mouth pressed to his.

Darcy’s hands went lower, traced across his hips and over his ass, pulling him in closer to feel his cock stiffening against her leg.

“Darce, you don’t gotta...” Clint trailed off as she finally brought a hand around to cup his erection. The water fell warm around them, and Darcy sank to her knees to take him in her mouth. “Oh fuck, sweetheart.”

She hummed lightly, and he jerked in her mouth. She bobbed her head a few times, tongue playing on the underside of his length, and hollowed her cheeks to suck hard at the tip. 

“Darcy,” he protested on a gasp, “I know you don’t like doing this in the shower, let’s get out.”

“Mmm-mm,” she hummed again, shaking her head, before drawing her mouth off with a pop. “No, and that’s final. I want to do this for you, babe, please let me.”

She looked up at where he loomed over her, trying to keep the shower from spraying in her face, and, without breaking eye contact, wrapped her lips back around his cock. He was right that she didn’t love shower sex in general, but she did love giving him head, loved his responses and reactions, the stuttering breaths and low moans and the way he held back from being too rough with her unless she gave him the okay.

And this time she did, reaching up to pull his hand down and place it on her crown, shoving forward slightly so he’d know he had permission to thrust. His other hand rested against the tiled wall, and he braced himself there, fucking into her mouth until she couldn’t lick or suck, just holding herself there for him to take what he needed. She tried to keep up a steady stream of appreciative sounds, both reassurance and extra stimulation, and she did her best not to gag when his dick hit the back of her throat, grateful he didn’t try to go any deeper.

Clint came with a long, low noise, Darcy working him through it until he pulled her head back gently. “Fuck, sweetheart, that was so good, you were so good.”

He leaned against the wall, eyes closed, and she sputtered as the shower spray landed on her face again. She laughed as she shakily got to her feet, Clint apologizing half-heartedly as they both tried to catch their breath. He pulled her in close again, and they carefully washed one another before getting out of the shower and wrapping up in the fluffy towels hanging on the warming rack.

“Hey,” he said seriously, “I want to make sure you understand that I don’t expect that kind of thing, like if you think you owe me that, don’t. No matter what happens, if we’re fighting or whatever, you never have to do that if you don’t like it.”

“I know that, babe, but thank you for saying it. And for the record, I did really like it.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” he breathed out, “because any time you want to do it I am totally down.”

Darcy swatted him on the arm, laughing as she moved towards her toothbrush.

“It’s still early, darlin’, you quittin’ on me already?”

“Not at all, but I definitely want to make out with you before we go again.” She winked, and he growled just a little, darting in to nip at her earlobe.

He ended up surprising them both with how quickly he bounced back, and as their lovemaking turned from soft to frantic, sweet to filthy, Darcy began mumbling silly, inane insults: “your arms are too muscley” and “why do you always have to smell so good” and “something something nerfherder,” which made Clint collapse into laughter on top of her. 

She groaned at the sudden weight and the sudden lack of movement, and he propped himself up on his elbows over her, still chuckling. He rocked his hips once, then stilled again.

“Babe,” she whined.

“You’re not being very nice,” he teased, running a finger over her nipple.

“Just getting us ready for more makeup sex,” she breathed out. 

“In that case,” he said, rolling them over so she sat astride him, “carry on.”


	8. Can you stay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint comes to terms with Bucky and Darcy's friendship.

Despite being friends and teammates and room/house/tower-mates, however you wanted to define that, there was still some residual tension between Bucky and Clint. Clint and Darcy had been reconciled for more than two months, but Barnes still eyed him warily whenever he saw Darcy with anything but a smile on her face. And she was a generally happy person, but, come on, no one smiled all the time.

Clint knew he had messed up, but they were working through it and they both thought they’d come out stronger, individually and in the relationship. Try telling that to Barnes, though. Guy had a death stare specifically for the archer, even though they worked really well together on missions.

Thing was, he knew Barnes had been there for Darcy whenever she and Clint had a problem; Clint had Nat, and Darcy had Bucky, and the fact that they had such similar best friends was lost on no one. Barnes had comforted her when she was sad, sparred with her when she was mad, celebrated with her when good things happened with work or life or even her and Clint getting their shit together. Natasha had certainly done the same for Clint, so he couldn’t begrudge Darcy the friendship.

So when Darcy was visiting Stark Tower and Barnes thought she wasn’t happy, his immediate response was always to glower at Clint. He took it in stride, knew he deserved it, and he could tell that some small part of Darcy’s heart shone a little brighter that Bucky cared that much about her. She wasn’t really used to that kind of devotion from a friend, and she tried to pay it back however she could.

That was usually in the form of food. Not home-cooked meals, definitely not baked goods, but things Bucky might miss from his childhood, or exotic treats he’d never have dreamed about during the war. He was particularly enamored of Japanese Kit-Kats and all the flavors, matcha and banana and on one punch-drunk post-mission ordering spree, wasabi. Darcy tried to keep a steady supply of international treats on hand in the communal kitchen, and she’d give Bucky a heads up whenever something new came in. Clint would be jealous, had at one point _been_ jealous, but then Cap and Barnes had come to breakfast holding hands one morning.

So when Barnes came by one evening after Darcy got off work, Clint was determined to extend an olive branch. He sat on the couch, listening to them laughing over a box that had just come in from Romania, tuica and assorted jams and these cocoa-rum cookies that Clint really wanted to try but wasn’t willing to interrupt their fun to ask about. Darcy had divided everything into two piles and was loading Bucky’s share back into the box for him to take upstairs.

“Hey Barnes, I just ordered dinner. Can you stay?”

He could feel their stares -- Barnes assessing, Darcy amused -- as he nonchalantly thumbed at his phone.

“You sure you got enough?”

“Yeah, ordered plenty. It’s pizza, it doesn’t go bad.”

Barnes grunted an affirmative and held out the bag of Eugenia biscuits. Clint wandered over to take the proffered treat, running his hand lightly over Darcy’s waist as he passed. The cookie was as good as he imagined, like something Madga used to make for special occasions when the circus had settled in one place for a few days.

Darcy held his gaze for a minute, eyes warm and shining, before she reached over to open the plum liqueur sitting on the counter and directed Bucky towards the glasses. Clint felt his ears warm when she made a very unsubtle toast to new beginnings, but he and Barnes dutifully clinked their drinks together before knocking them back. Maybe they’d never be the best of friends, he thought, but anyone who had Darcy’s back was worth keeping around.

He poured another round for everyone and leaned against the counter, content to listen to them chatter. Mission accomplished.


	9. There is certain a taste to it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint wins a bet, and Darcy has to pay up.

“It’s gonna snow.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not.”

“Seriously, look at the sky! Breathe in! Taste the air! It’s definitely going to snow.”

“Clint, you can’t possibly predict snow by tasting the air.”

“Can so. There is a certain _ taste _to it, Darce, I grew up in the midwest, I know these things.”

She shook her head mockingly. “I know these things,” she said, sing-song, hands on her hips.

“Want to bet on it, then?” There was a gleam in Clint’s eye, partially hidden behind the trail of steam that wafted up from his mug. They were standing side-by-side on the front porch of the little cabin they’d rented for the weekend, tucked away in the Catskills. 

“Oh, definitely. If it snows before morning, I’ll--” Darcy trailed off, unsure how far she wanted to push this. 

“If it snows before morning,” he said, tugging her hat down over her ears, “you have to get up and make the coffee. And I get three kisses, wherever I want.”

She shivered, not entirely because of the cold.

“And if it doesn’t snow?”

“Same deal, three kisses, and I make the coffee.”

They shook on it before she wrapped her arm around his waist, resting her hot chocolate on the porch railing. She leaned her head against his shoulder, happy to be away for a quiet retreat after the bustle of the holidays. The cabin was isolated and cozy, fully stocked but still simple enough to feel like they were getting away from it all.

They’d gone for a walk around a small pond, breathing in crisp cold air and laughing out puffs of white, then come back in to warm up before dinner; Clint had made soup and cornbread, and Darcy handled clean-up. A couple hours reading and dozing in front of the fire, now standing outside looking at an overcast sky -- it was the happiest Darcy could remember being, and she’d had a really good year. 

“Come on, pretty girl, let’s go to bed so I can collect my winnings tomorrow.”

He dropped their mugs in the sink, ran some water in them, and tugged her down the short hallway to the master bedroom. When they climbed under the covers, she immediately snuggled into him, rucking up his thermal shirt just a little to get her fingers on his bare skin. He dropped a kiss on her forehead before turning off the lamp and murmuring good night.

Saturday dawned bright -- too bright, and she immediately groaned. That was definitely snow she saw dusting the big fir trees outside the window. She sat up and saw the ground covered in white, and flopped back on the pillows with a pout.

“Something the matter, sweetheart?”

“Not at all, honeybear,” she answered, voice saccharine. Darcy saw Clint grin into his pillow, and she shoved his head very gently before climbing out of bed. She padded down the hall to put the coffee on, stopped by the bathroom to pee and splash some water on her face, and came back a few minutes later with two steaming mugs.

“Thank you, beautiful, this is so thoughtful of you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled good-naturedly. She handed him the mugs and crawled under the quilt, propping herself up against the headboard before taking her coffee back. They sat in silence for a few minutes, waking up, Clint’s hand warm on her thigh atop the covers.

“This is nice,” she said finally. “Being here with you.”

He smiled, pleased, and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to her lips.

Darcy made grits for breakfast, heavy on the butter and salt, and fried up a couple eggs for each of them while Clint stoked the banked fire back to life. After they ate and cleaned up the kitchen, they moved back down the hall to get ready for the day. Darcy was just finishing up brushing her teeth when Clint called out from the bedroom, “Hey, I’m ready for my first prize!”

Her heart sped up a little, wondering where he’d ask her to kiss him. He was sitting shirtless on the bed, jeans unbuttoned, feet bare; her breath quickened as she stood before him, and he made her wait for a moment before tapping a finger to his cheek. She barked out a laugh before leaning forward, holding his jaw in one hand so she could press her lips against the scruff there.

After a morning of building a tiny snow family and watching birds flit around eating the seed they’d tossed out in the yard, Clint cleared his throat pointedly. They were sitting on the porch swing, wrapped up in a big blanket, and Darcy twisted her neck to look up at him.

“Time for my second kiss, I think,” he said, his voice smoldering. 

She sat up, wiggling eagerly against him, till he held out his hand; she was confused at first, but then she pulled his palm up to her mouth, kissing him tenderly there before dropping tiny pecks on the tip of each callused finger. 

“Bonus prizes?” He sounded amused, and she just hummed softly and cradled his hand in between her own. They sat on the porch a little while longer before going inside to eat lunch.

The afternoon passed peacefully, another walk, tromping through the couple inches of snow, a sighting of some white-tailed deer. They watched a movie, cuddled together on the couch, and heated up a frozen lasagna for dinner. Darcy was antsy by bedtime, eager to reward Clint properly for his meteorological prowess. She knew he could feel her desire, sensed his smugness but didn’t care, and when he pulled the covers back she let out a low, sad sound. 

“Oh, did I forget something?”

“Babe!”

“Let me get settled, then you can pay up.” Like that morning, Clint was shirtless, but now he leaned back against the headboard, watching her. He shuffled a little, got comfortable, and nodded at her to come into the bed.

Darcy crawled over him, straddled his legs, certain she knew where she was headed next. Sure enough, he tucked his thumb into the waistband of his flannel pants, pulled the elastic slightly. Darcy licked her lips involuntarily.

“I want my next kiss...right here.” Clint tapped his pursed lips.

Darcy let out an amused, frustrated huff, dropping her face down to plant a long, slow kiss on him.

“Tease,” she murmured against his lips, and she felt him grin in response. “You coulda had my mouth anywhere.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking at her fondly. “I know.”

“Is this a consent thing?” She was still in his lap, her dark hair falling in curtain around their faces.

He shrugged a little.

“Is this a Loki thing?” she asked softly.

“It’s a trying to treat you right thing,” he answered just as carefully. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you don’t have a choice, whether it’s a bet or a date or a normal night where you just don’t want to do something.”

His hands were warm on her hips, even through the fabric of her leggings, and she traced her fingers over his face, tender and soft.

“That’s...kind of incredible, honestly, babe, like what did I do to deserve you? You’re so good to me.”

His answering smile was small but sincere. “It’s a decent person thing, Darce.”

“Mm. You should know, though, that I spent the whole day thinking about putting my mouth on you. Everywhere.”

“S’that a fact?”

“Yeah, like _ everywhere. _” She dropped her voice low to speak right into his ear. “And if I don’t get to kiss you all over, I’m never gonna make a bet with you again.”

“Well we can’t have that, darlin’. You made a great pot of coffee this morni—_ mmph _.” 

Darcy shut him up with a kiss, exactly where she wanted it.


	10. Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this crack?

_ Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod _, Darcy thought, staring down at the scene in front of her. She definitely was not prepared for this.

“Babe,” she called over her shoulder, “can you come here?”

“What’s a matter?”

“Listen, I can’t explain it,” she answered, still not looking away from the little girl who stood in front of her, covered in blood. She tried to keep her voice calm. “You’ll have to trust me.”

The girl gazed at her with no expression on her face. Her clothes were in tatters, and she looked as though she had been through hell. Behind her on the apartment stoop, two more children stood silently.

She felt Clint approach behind her, and she shot him an inscrutable look before stepping to the side.

“What the -- holy cow, is that kid a _ zombie _?” He glanced at Darcy for confirmation before turning back to face the little girl, dropping into a careful crouch before her. The child shied away, looking over her shoulder at the older kids. 

“Oh man, and is that-- are you Black Widow? And _ Hawkeye _? Are you for real?”

The girl dressed as Black Widow held out her pillowcase, already half full of candy. “Trick or treat,” she sang out, nudging her brother.

“Trick or treat,” the boy said dutifully. “Casey, say it.”

The little zombie held out her bag and shyly whispered the words, but Clint was already heaping handfuls of candy into their sacks. 

“So you guys like the Avengers, huh?” Darcy asked, leaning against the open door.

“Yeah, Hawkeye’s my favorite!”

“Mine too, little man! And Black Widow is _ his _ favorite Avenger,” Darcy told the older girl, nodding towards Clint. 

“What about you, miss zombie, not into superheroes?” Clint asked.

Casey shrugged. “She got to be Black Widow and there’s only one girl Avenger.” 

“You know,” he said, still crouched in front of the kids, “I think they’re working on that. Getting some more cool ladies to help fight bad guys. But you look pretty awesome anyway.”

“I think you three have the best costumes we’ve seen all night,” Darcy agreed. 

As the kids tromped down the stairs to their waiting parents, Darcy slipped her arm around Clint’s waist. “Cutest thing I’ve ever seen, that little Hawkeye.” 

“Am I really your favorite Avenger?”

She laughed, and popped up on her tiptoes to kiss him. “I’ll prove it to you later.”


	11. It’s not always like this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy works a lot. Clint's there to prop her up.

It was her fourth day in a row working late, and Darcy was dead on her feet. Dr. G was preparing to attend a medical technology conference in DC, and it felt like the whole organization was pitching in to get her ready. She was leading a session on alternative delivery methods for antivirals, and Darcy got a little hysterical when she tried to say that five times fast.

Gina from Marketing took pity on her and told her to take fifteen.

“I’m not always like this,” Darcy stressed, climbing to her feet from where she’d been sitting cross-legged on the floor reviewing the itinerary for the weekend: train to DC on Friday morning, conference from Friday afternoon to Sunday morning, train back mid-day Sunday, back in New York by dinnertime.

“Eh, it’s not always like this here,” Gina answered. She was working on the slides Dr. G would be presenting, making sure the aesthetics didn’t overshadow the content. Gina handled the website, but her graphic design background was a good match for this kind of project.

Darcy wandered down the hall to the restroom to splash some water on her face. She looked haggard, which was silly considering how haphazard her work schedule for Jane had been at times. She’d just gotten used to a little more structure, both professionally and personally. 

Speaking of which, she thought, she should call Clint and let him know she wouldn’t be home for dinner. And since she was accompanying her boss and colleagues to Washington the next day, this meant basically a week of barely seeing each other even though they lived together. The phone rang through to his voicemail, and she left an apologetic message. “This’ll all be over next week, babe, and I’ll be home before you go to bed.”

Twenty minutes later, a delivery guy dropped off enough Thai food to feed a small army; as the half-dozen people still at work dug in, Darcy thanked her boss over a mouthful of spicy green papaya salad. Dr. G paused with her fork halfway to her mouth and said she thought Darcy had arranged it. Darcy picked through the cartons and wrappers till she found the receipt, Clint’s phone number at the top. She flushed, pleased but a little embarrassed, worried that her colleagues would think he was being overbearing. 

She grabbed her phone and saw a text from him:

_ Hope that’s not too much  
_ _See you when you get home_

“Um, so my boyfriend ordered it? He didn’t know what I’d be in the mood for? And he knew there were some other people still working.”

Dr. G and Gina glanced at one another, and Darcy tripped over her words trying to explain. “When we first started hanging out, I worked in the same building as him and when I had to work late he’d get dinner for us to share, I think he’s just trying to be nice.”

“You saying I work you too hard, Lewis?”

“Oh, god, no, Dr. G-- Dr. Garcia, not at all, I’ll tell him not to do this again,” she stammered out.

“Relax, Darcy, I’m just messing with you. Tell him we said thanks.”

“My ex-girlfriend used to hand-deliver meals when we had to work late,” Gina confided.

“Stop calling her your ex-girlfriend, Gina, she’s your wife!” Dr. G threw a balled-up napkin at the other woman, and Darcy slumped back into her chair, relieved. She liked her job, liked her colleagues, but they were a close-knit group and she didn’t always feel like she’d found her place on the team. Casual ribbing was definitely a good sign.

Later that night, back at the apartment, she cuddled up to Clint on the couch. “Thank you for dinner,” she murmured. “My boss gave me a hard time but she was kidding, and it turns out it was a good icebreaker with the web designer.”

“Yeah? Good. Just wanted to take care of you.”

“You do, baby. Feels weird that I’m the one going away tomorrow.”

“I know,” he said, stroking a hand up her back. “But you’ll be back quick and then it’s your birthday and we can actually plan something together this time.”

She hummed, snuggling further into his embrace, and let sleep carry her away.

The conference was more organized chaos, Darcy following her boss around from session to session, taking notes and names and business cards. They all went out to dinner at a fancy French place on Saturday and by the time the train got them back to Penn Station on Sunday night, she was truly wiped out. Clint had texted her that he’d have a car waiting, and she was delighted to see her old pal Britt standing outside the station, leaning against a black sedan. She couldn’t resist pulling the driver into a hug, knowing it was silly but too tired to contain her emotions.

They caught up on the drive to Bed-Stuy, Darcy babbling about her new job and getting used to Brooklyn, Britt dropping hints about juicy stories she’d overheard chauffeuring people around the city. When they pulled up at the apartment, Darcy grabbed her own luggage but gave Britt a fist-bump through the open window. The driver saluted and revved the engine before peeling off; she could still hear Darcy’s laughter halfway down the block.

Clint had dinner waiting, and they curled up on the couch together after they ate, musing again on the role reversal. Lucky had leapt onto the couch between them for head scritches. Dr. G had given Darcy the next two days off, and made her promise to put in all her work hours over the weekend as overtime; her next paycheck would be huge. Still, she told Clint, the best part of the trip was definitely coming home to her boys. Their fingers tangled together in Lucky’s soft fur, and Darcy had the realization she wanted to do this for the rest of her life. She’d hoped it would always be just like this.


	12. What if I don't see it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kink negotiation; no actual sex.

It was hard to say which of them was more nervous, and that was silly and sweet all at once. The tips of Clint’s ears were pink, and Darcy’s cheeks were full-on red. They’d had sex a million times; why was this so hard?

_ Because you’re asking him to tie you up and gag you _ , Darcy’s brain helpfully supplied. She blushed even harder, just thinking about it.

They’d joked about their kinks before, but never took it too seriously. Darcy knew she liked being called Clint’s sweet girl, knew it sent a shiver down her spine when he got that look in his eyes. She took care of other people all day at work, predicting their needs and supporting their projects; sometimes she just wanted to turn her brain off. And Clint was well aware of his own proclivities, including a tendency towards control -- something he’d had precious little of in his life. Add in the whole Loki thing, though, and he’d mostly shied away from any sort of dom headspace during his relationship with Darcy.

Now she was  _ asking _ for it, though, asking him to take charge, trusting him to take care of her. They’d talked about what a scene might look like; soft silk binding her hands to the headboard, a sheer blindfold and a simple fabric gag to ease into that loss of control, and Clint taking Darcy apart however he saw fit -- edging or overstimulation or not letting her come at all if that’s what felt right. They talked about what toys he might use, how much he’d tell her about what he would be doing next, how long they’d play before the aftercare. And they talked about safewords, green-yellow-red, and how she’d signal she needed a break with her mouth full.

That was Clint’s sticking point, it turned out -- making sure he could tell when it was too much.

“I could do a hand signal, would that work?” Darcy mused. She was standing over the coffee maker, waiting for the brew to finish dripping into the pot.

“What if I don’t see it?”

“Think that’s likely, Hawkeye?”

He shrugged one shoulder, but didn’t respond.

“Babe, if you don’t want to do this, we don’t do it. I won’t be offended or hurt or whatever. If it’s not gonna be good for you, it won’t be good for me either.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he said, rising from his seat at the table. He came around to stand behind her at the counter, dropping a kiss to her bare shoulder. “It’s super hot, are you kidding me? And it means a lot that you would trust me with this, that you’d even ask for it.”

“But?”

“But I’m nervous about pushing you too far.” He was mumbling into her neck now, arms around her waist, and she wondered if they should have had the whole conversation without looking at one another. Some things were easier to ask for when you didn’t have to meet someone’s eyes. Hence the blindfold idea, really.

“Let’s just think about it then,” she said, running her fingers over his forearms where he held her close. “I don’t want to push, and I don’t want to have to convince you.  _ But _ , I will say, I only thought of this because of that time you told me to keep my hands where you put them. I really liked you telling me what to do, and I don’t want that all the time, but, I don’t know, the kind of... scariness, I guess, makes it feel good.”

“Yeah, so telling me I scare you is definitely not the way to make this happen,” he said wryly.

“Not as in I’m scared of  _ you _ ,” she amended, finally turning around to face him. This part did need to be said face to face, he deserved that. “I have never, ever been scared of you, okay?”

He nodded, and she took that as a sign to continue. “But the, the thrill of it I guess. Putting myself in your hands because I trust you. I like it when you play with me.” She couldn’t stop the shiver that coursed through her body, and she was back to blushing. 

It must have convinced Clint, too, because the darkening of his eyes said he was probably coming around. “Maybe we could ease into it,” he suggested. “Like not do all of it at once, the gag and everything? I’d feel better if I could see how much you can take while you can still tell me to stop.”

She pressed a loud smooch to his cheek and told him that sounded perfect. 

“So you wanna do this now?” 

“I have to go to work, and you have to go work out, and now that we’ve planned out the whole scene the only way to make it spontaneously sexy is for you to surprise me sometime.” 

Clint pouted. “Aw, work, no.”

She pulled him in for another quick kiss, then swatted his ass as she stepped away to grab their travel mugs. 

“You’ll pay for that,” he warned.

“Oh, babe, I am counting on it.”


	13. I never knew it could be this way.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving in. Missing scene, pre-Chapter 13 of SALWBF.

There were some things in life that Darcy could always count on: taxes, sure, and that her mom would send her a super corny birthday card (Darcy secretly loved them), and that she’d never be able to pull off bangs, and that Scotch tasted like punishment, and that moving was The Worst. 

She’d lived in the same apartment at Culver for three years after spending freshman year in the dorms, and that post-college, pre-New York phase gallivanting around with Erik and Jane always felt temporary enough that it didn’t really feel like _ moving _ . It was never moving her _ life _, just whatever stuff she needed for the next project. And then she found her little studio in Queens, and it was such a bargain that she had no reason to think about leaving it, no matter her opinion on the actual act of resettling.

So, okay, she’d really only lived four places, but the process of packing everything up and deciding what to toss or donate and physically hauling boxes up and down the stairs of stupid buildings that never seemed to have elevators and deep cleaning the apartment so she could get her deposit back, like, all those things objectively sucked. Some people might find it therapeutic, a fresh start, but those people were not to be trusted.

But when Clint shyly asked her if she’d consider moving in with him and Lucky in Bed-Stuy, it was a no-brainer. He’d been very deliberate about it, didn’t try to play it off as some casual passing fancy. He made it clear he wanted her there, and she melted a little bit when he rubbed the back of his neck, nerves showing through. She’d answered with a yelped “Yes!” and a flurry of kisses all over his face and neck, then thrown her arms around Lucky-pup for some canine cuddles. They talked a little about the logistics right away, but practical matters quickly fell to the wayside in favor of a night of sweet and drawn-out love-making.

She was still giddy in the morning, still giddy when she went back to her apartment later that night, still giddy until she reached the door and realized what she’d agreed to: moving. _ I mean, duh, _ she thought. But it hadn’t occurred to her that she’d actually have to go through the actual process.

Darcy didn’t let on at first, not wanting Clint to think she was second-guessing anything. He’d timed it just right, on purpose of course, as her lease was running out in a couple months. By the time she gave notice, she had 45 days to vacate. Thirty days into that, she’d only managed to get a couple boxes over to Clint’s—no, _ their _ place, stuff she used every day and sentimental items. She was spending pretty much every night there, though, even when he got called out on a two-week op. Kate offered to keep Lucky both weekends so Darcy could focus on the move, and she really should have made more progress with only two weeks to go.

When he realized she was dragging her feet, he quietly asked if she’d changed her mind. Darcy’s reassurance was thorough and sincere; after she tucked him back into his pants, she leaned her head on his thigh and confessed that she just really hated moving. Like, so much.

“You shoulda said, sweetheart, I would have helped. I was trying to give you space, I know you’ve loved that apartment.”

She shrugged. “I mean, at this point a lot of the stuff I can get rid of because we don’t need two of everything.”

“I should have realized,” he faltered, “we don’t have to keep my stuff just because it’s here, if there’s stuff you want to keep we’ll keep it. Or we can put it in storage if you’re not sure, there’s space in the basement or we’ll rent a unit or whatever you want.”

“Oh, god, honestly, babe, your furniture is much nicer, that’s not it at all. I just genuinely think it’s boring and un-fun to move. But thanks for the offer.”

He contested that he did like her little leather sofa, but said maybe they could buy some new stuff together to make it feel more like _their_ space. “But in the meantime, can you pack up everything you don’t want someone else to see or touch? Like, by Friday? I can help.”

Her cheeks were pink, but she winked when she said she’d already moved all their toys. She agreed to have the rest of her personal stuff packed in three days, just a week before her move-out date, and they made plans to meet at the studio after she got off work the next couple days.

Kate agreed to keep Lucky one more weekend, and Clint and Darcy spent Friday night in Queens one last time. Saturday dawned bright and chilly, and when Darcy awoke to the smell of coffee and doughnuts she was surprised to see enough for a small army.

“Help is on the way,” Clint explained, “get dressed.”

Sure enough, half an hour later three teenagers Clint worked with at the archery range showed up bearing empty boxes. They each took a section of the studio: Raf was in the kitchen, Lily tackled the living room, and Ben was in charge of taking everything off the walls, since he was the tallest. Darcy labeled all the boxes, and Clint began hauling them downstairs. Most of the kitchen stuff would be donated, along with the linens that wouldn’t fit on Clint’s king bed, third-hand lamps that Darcy had no real attachment to, and the dinged-up but sturdy bistro dining set. Clint had found an agency that helped formerly homeless people get back on their feet, since establishing a residence could be surprisingly expensive, not even considering rent and security deposits and setting up utilities. Even the most basic housewares would go a long way towards making a place feel like home.

Three hours later, the apartment was fully packed up and the truck loaded. Clint handed each of the kids a handful of bills. They all tromped downstairs, but Darcy stayed to say goodbye and thank you to her erstwhile home. She had tears in her eyes when she locked up and dropped off the key in the landlady’s box, and she was still sniffling when she climbed into the cab of the truck.

Clint had already confessed that he’d arranged a cleaning crew, someone he knew could use the income, to come by on Tuesday. The teenagers he’d hired that day were also hand-picked, only attending archery lessons through scholarships. He knew they were too proud to accept charity, but they were willing to work hard, and he’d paid them well for it.

“Not that I’m not thrilled about moving in with you,” she explained, dabbing at her nose with her sleeve, “I’m so, so happy, babe, it’s just the end of an era.”

He reached out to wipe at the tear tracks on her cheek, and she gave him a watery smile.

“Thank you for helping me today, I never knew it could be this way. I guess moving out is easier with more hands, I’ve just never had that except for my mom.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” There was something in his eyes she couldn’t decipher, something like amusement, but not at her expense.

She was quiet on the ride into Brooklyn, but she moaned a little at the thought of hauling all those boxes up to Clint’s apartment. _ Their apartment_, she corrected herself again. He just flashed her a smile and leapt out of the truck, pulling out his phone as he walked around to the back.

Before she’d even taken the first box from Clint’s outstretched hand, she felt an arm snake around her shoulder and a kiss on her cheek. She turned in surprise to see Bucky there, hair pulled back from his face in a messy bun.

“Hiya, doll, we came to help!”

Behind him, Steve grinned, and she felt the tears threatening again. She heard Nat say something in Russian, heard Clint respond that traffic had been bad, and wondered for a minute why she’d ever dreaded this move. They made short work of unloading the boxes, and after a beer and pizza break, Steve and Bucky left to drop off the donations and return the truck. Natasha stayed to help unpack, knowing Darcy’s books and art and housewares would stay in boxes indefinitely unless someone pushed them.

She left a couple hours later, walking out with Kate, who’d dropped Lucky off after Darcy insisted they spend their first official night together as a family. She wasn’t sure whether Nat or Kate rolled their eyes harder, and she knew that she probably deserved it, because it was pretty freaking corny. Still, the look on Clint’s face when they curled up together in the living room that night was worth it. He’d gotten rid of his recliner and rearranged some things so they could fit her leather loveseat in the room, and they were all piled together, Lucky wedged between them. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it was cozy and theirs and home, and Darcy made a revision to her mental list of life’s certainties. She might even be willing to try Scotch again.


	14. I can’t come back.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SHIELD's holiday party.

The unofficial, informal, off-the-books SHIELD annual holiday party was something to behold. They couldn’t really get _ everyone _together because of security concerns, but individual teams usually did something at the end of the year, and if two or three individual teams all happened to do something at the same time in the same place, well, funny how fate worked out, right?

So when Clint asked Darcy to accompany him to the party, he said it was just a casual thing, him and Nat and Coulson’s new team and maybe a couple other people he’d worked with before switching over to consultant status. Darcy had met some of them, had heard about others, and even though she no longer held any sort of clearance, was still at least a little familiar with what the organization was up to lately. 

“Like, th-the barest-bones familiarity,” she stuttered out when Director Hill asked her about it, escorting her over to a shadowy corner of the bar they’d rented out in Hell’s Kitchen. Clint had _ not _ mentioned any high-level SHIELD personnel would be in attendance. “Really, less than nothing.”

Hill eyed her for a long moment, and Darcy did her best not to gulp audibly as she scanned the room for someone to save her. Clint was at the bar with Natasha and Phil, looking happy and comfortable with his old team. Everyone else seemed to be purposely ignoring their little corner, likely because of the director’s blank-but-somehow-menacing expression. Twinkling lights overhead cast blinking shadows on Hill’s face, and the woman finally smirked and looked away.

“Damn,” she said, taking a long pull of her beer. “Barton’s taking forever with his AAR’s again, I was hoping we could get you back to SHIELD to help move things along.”

Darcy sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Wow, rude.”

Hill laughed, and asked her how Dr. Garcia was doing. “She’d understand if you left, Rosie is a hopeless romantic. Don’t tell her I told you that.”

She knew her mind shouldn’t still boggle at how small her world was, but the fact that the director of SHIELD was on first-name, _ nickname _ terms with her own high-powered boss took Darcy by surprise.

“I can’t come back,” she finally said warily. “Not putting all my eggs in one basket anymore.”

Hill nodded, and made as if to move off, but paused when Darcy opened her mouth again.

“But you keep getting him home safe to me and I’ll work on convincing him to get those reports in faster,” Darcy finished. She’d blame the alcohol for the flush on her cheeks.

Hill snorted, then, and stuck out her hand for Darcy to shake. “Deal. Happy holidays, Ms. Lewis.”

“Nat too, if you don’t mind,” Darcy called as the older woman walked away. Hill lifted her beer in response, but didn’t look back. Clint passed her on his way over to Darcy.

“Nat what?” 

“Nothing, babe,” she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s go find some mistletoe.”


	15. That’s what I’m talking about!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy discusses the merits and limitations of pizza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene, set early on in SAL, like Chapter 5ish?

“All I’m saying,” Darcy preached, “is that this isn’t pizza, it’s, like, pizza casserole at best.”

She used the side of her fork to cut another bite, cheese stretching from the plate all the way to her mouth.

“Delicious,” she clarified, “but not real pizza.”

There was a veritable smorgasbord of pizzas (or variations thereof) spread out in the dining room for Team Dinner, inspired by a Buzzfeed post Darcy had read about pizza styles from around the country. It was only the third time she had come to dinner since she and Clint started dating. Nat and Steve weren’t there, but Pepper was in from Malibu and Thor was on-world so Jane had tagged along, so Tony had ordered a ton of food.

They’d somehow naturally segregated themselves, women at one end of the table, men at the other, and Jane was trying to convince Darcy that Chicago style pizza was legit. Pepper refused to weigh in; every time they looked at her, she had a slice of Thai chicken pizza held up to her mouth as if she’d just taken another bite. Sneaky.

“It’s better than some of the stuff I grew up with, where they put cold toppings on hot crust,” she continued, and all three women shivered in revulsion, “but it’s just not real pizza.”

Clint had wandered down to snag a slice of the New York-style that had ended up in front of Jane, and he flinched dramatically at Darcy’s words. “Wait, are you hating on pizza, Lewis? I don’t know if we can withstand that this early on in the relationship.” He folded the slice in half and took a big bite, winking at his girlfriend as he chewed.

Pepper piped up, “She’s educating us on Chicago-style pizza.”

“Oh, you mean pizza casserole?” he asked around the mouthful of food, coming to stand behind Darcy’s chair.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Darcy flung her hands into the air in victory. She tilted her head back so she could look up at Clint with a smile. “He’s the expert.”

He leaned down to give her a quick kiss before going back to his conversation at the other end of the table, and she blushed when she looked back at the other women. She definitely wasn’t accustomed to the PDA, but she was looking forward to getting used to it.

“He seems happy,” Pepper acknowledged with a smile.

“And so do you,” said Jane, toasting her glass of diet soda in Darcy’s direction.

“I am happy,” she confirmed with a silly grin. “And I’m right about the pizza.”


	16. Listen. No, really listen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy and Clint hear something they shouldn't. Unintentional voyeurism (audio only).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene, early-ish SAL.

Clint was sprawled out on the couch, watching a baseball game with the TV muted and the subtitles on, when Darcy came into the living room giggling. Her damp hair hung down over her shoulders, and her pale green shirt was already darkening where the water soaked into the fabric.

He flicked his eyes over at her and back to the screen, already shifting so she could wedge herself in behind him on the deep cushions. She sighed as she rested her head on his shoulder, his arm coming up around her to toy with the wet strands of hair. Darcy was scrolling through her phone, still smiling, when he turned to her during the break between innings.

“What’s up, beautiful?”

“I’m pretty sure Janie just butt-dialed me when I was in the shower,” Darcy said, “and I’m pretty sure she and Thor were in the middle of sexytimes when it happened.”

Clint shifted again to look at her properly. “Is butt-dialing even a thing anymore?”

“Ugh, it’s either that or they were talking about _ me _ during sexytimes, and somehow her phone thought there was a command to call me.” Darcy grimaced.

“I’m sure plenty of people think of you during, uh, sexytimes,” Clint started, “but are you sure she doesn’t need help or something?”

“Aw, thanks, babe. But listen,” she said, tapping play on the voicemail and turning on speakerphone.

Clint just stared at her, looking amused. There were definitely some grunts and heavy breathing, but nothing discernable as sex noises.

“No, really listen!” Darcy urged, and there was a long, breathy moan. “I am almost a hundred percent sure that’s Jane’s...happy noise? Oh my god, this is so inappropriate.”

She turned off her phone and tossed it over to the coffee table.

“Sweetheart,” Clint purred, “have you and Jane ever...”

“No! Nothing like that. Not that I’m averse in general? But not with my boss-slash-friend, that’s too weird.”

To his credit, he only looked a little disappointed. “But you know what she sounds like when she’s... happy.”

“We’ve shared a room a _ lot _,” Darcy explained, snuggling into Clint’s one-armed embrace so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “And a girl has needs, and sometimes she has to take care of those needs when she thinks the other person in the room is asleep, and sometimes that involves whispery phone sex and me hearing things I shouldn’t hear from my boss-slash-friend.”

“Huh, fair enough. You ever have to, uh, take care of your needs while she was asleep?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. This one time we were in New Mexico and I met a total hottie, arms like you wouldn’t believe, and these crinkles around his eyes when he smiled, just, like, a mega babe. And he came in all tough and badass and I fantasized about him for ages afterwards. Thought about how I’d convince him to give us our stuff back,” she teased.

“Wait, really?” Clint sat up, twisting his torso to look down at her.

“Yeah, really,” she said simply. “I wanted you long before I actually knew you.”

“Is it bad if I can’t say the same?” 

“Is it bad that you were too focused on your work, aka saving the world, to notice a co-ed making googly eyes at you? Probably not.”

“I mean, technically the world didn’t need saving right at that point,” he said, lowering himself back down and turning on his side to face her.

“Yeah, but you didn’t know it at the time,” she said generously. “Anyway, we’re here now.”

“Thank Thor for that, huh?” He gave her an exaggerated wink.

“Booooo,” she said, laughing. “Tell me you did not just make that joke.”

“You love it,” he dismissed, tugging at her damp hair. He leered at her, waggling his eyebrows. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you outta these wet clothes. I wanna hear how you were gonna get your ipod back from me.”


	17. There is just something about them/her/him.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter inspired by that pic of Robert Buckley playing basketball and the lady on the phone in the background staring at him with her jaw dropped.

Spring had sprung and it felt like the whole city had spilled outside into parks and patios, drinking and laughing and basking in the warm sun. It was as though no one could stand to be indoors. Darcy never had to wait for any equipment at the Y; she’d found a branch closer to her new home in Bed-Stuy. Clint still spent plenty of time on the range where he coached and at the Tower where he got to use splodie arrows in a secure environment, but he had taken to doing cardio circuits in the park in the mornings so he could hit the calisthenics stations.

Darcy usually waved him off with a sleepy smile, but one Sunday he convinced her to join him on his run. She tried to tell him she’d only slow him down, but he said he didn’t mind.

“I miss you when we’re apart,” he pouted.

Once they were out on the trail, though, she could see that her lax winter gym routine had taken its toll; she could still run, but she was definitely holding him back. She told him to go on ahead and she’d meet him at the pull-up bars. He’d probably be done with his workout by the time she caught up to him.

Clint dropped a kiss on her cheek and took off, his long legs carrying him quickly away. She’d have sighed in relief if she’d had the lung capacity; instead she slowed her pace just a hair, trying to find a new rhythm. She settled into the run, glad she’d come out even if she’d never admit it.

As expected, Clint was wrapping up by the time she jogged into view. He held up a hand, asking for two more minutes, and she nodded and slowed to a stop, chest still heaving even after the cool down period. She walked over to a bench to start stretching her legs, and she startled when she turned around and bumped into someone.

“Sorry!” She yelped, holding out a hand to steady them both, but the woman she’d collided with wasn’t even looking at her. Darcy followed her gaze over to where Clint was dangling from the pull-up bar, his form tense, biceps bulging. He dropped back down slowly before pulling himself back up easily, and Darcy wasn’t sure whether the whimper she heard came from her or the other woman.

“Damn, my baby looks good,” she said under her breath, already thinking about what she was going to do to him when they got home.

The other woman shot her a wry glance. “Can’t imagine what you see in a man like that,” she deadpanned.

“Yeah,” Darcy grinned, “can’t explain it. There’s just something about him.”

They knocked their water bottles together in a toast as Clint finished his set.

“Friend of yours?” He jerked a thumb towards the departing woman.

“Nah, we were just admiring the view,” she said with a wide grin.

“S’that so?” Darcy squawked as he slung a sweaty arm over her shoulder. “Sounds like I was right to make you come out here after all.”

“I’ll admit it if we can get a cab home,” she said, already tugging him towards the street. “Think you can handle another workout?”


	18. Secrets? I love secrets.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy gets busted looking at stuff on the internet.

There comes a point in every relationship when a woman starts thinking about the future, and whether that future might involve a froofy dress and elaborate place settings and a big ol’ rock and changing her last name. And while most of that didn’t really appeal to Darcy, practically speaking, she was just as conditioned as the next person to click through Buzzfeed quizzes that predicted her exact age and hair color based on her wedding day preferences. And one quiz fed into another, and the sources for the images were right there on the pictures, and a few hours later she had a dream wedding planned (slinky white dress with a fur capelet, peonies and gold trim and natural accents on all the tables, non-diamond ring because she’d seen that Leonardo DiCaprio movie, and  _ maybe  _ she’d think about becoming Mrs. Barton if they ever had kids, but she was a Lewis and proud of it). It didn’t seem to matter that she wasn’t even entirely sure she ever  _ wanted  _ to get married, she honestly just liked planning stuff and looking at dresses.

But at almost no point in a fledgling, or even perhaps established relationship, do you want the potential other half of that wedding day to bust you making wedding plans when neither of you has ever broached the subject. Sure, they were living together now, which was a step in the right direction, but Clint had never made any kind of comments about marriage, and since he already had a failed one under his belt, she’d bet good money he was gun-shy about doing it again. 

She’d lost track of time, and was startled when he waltzed in with take-out Chinese for dinner. And, okay, maybe she could have been a little more subtle about hiding what she was doing; turns out snapping your laptop closed and looking up with a shocked expression invites questions.

He began pestering her immediately, of course, trying to figure out what she was up to.

“You watchin’ porn, sweetheart? You don’t gotta hide that from me, we can watch together.” 

“Not porn,” she said, already adding watching porn together to her list of ideas to spice things up in the bedroom. Not that they needed a list. But maybe someday they might.

“It’s not  _ Dog Cops _ is it? You better not be watching that without me!” He sounded positively scandalized.

“No,” she laughed, “but I’m glad that makes you more upset than me watching porn without you.”

“Booking a trip? Writing mean yelp reviews? Asking dumb questions on Yahoo Answers? Buying more shoes?”

“Let me have my secrets,” she protested, hugging the computer to her chest.

“Secrets? I love secrets, you know that.”

“I  _ do _ know that. Uhhhh, it’s not just a secret, it’s also a surprise?” Darcy was desperate to make him stop prying; she’d have to order some fancy coffee gizmo or a new nightie or, like, anything purple to throw him off the scent. Just as soon as he walked away and she could safely open her computer again, and close out the half dozen or so tabs of bridesmaids dresses she’d been perusing (she thought Jane would look particularly good in dark red).

They settled down to eat, Darcy intentionally clumsy with her chopsticks so as to win Lucky’s affection for the evening. She went into the kitchen to clean up and put away the leftovers, the incident forgotten in light of the episode of  _ Jeopardy  _ they’d watched while they ate. When she came back in and saw Clint holding the computer with a wicked grin, she blushed, frozen in her tracks. 

“Oh, please don’t!” 

He immediately put the laptop down on the cushion next to him, concern in his eyes. “Hey, no, Darce, I wasn’t-- I’m sorry. Of course you have a right to privacy, I was just trying to give you a hard time.”

Her feet finally started working again, seeing the misery on his face. “Oh god, it’s fine, it’s just embarrassing.” Darcy pulled up the screen so Clint could see the pages she’d been looking at.

“There was a thing on Buzzfeed and I got sucked into a rabbit hole, but I’m not-- I’m not trying to push for anything or, like, drop hints or whatever. Just lost track of time. Honestly I think I’d rather you catch me watching porn than looking at wedding stuff.”

From the look on his face, Clint didn’t know how to respond.

“Seriously, babe, I’m so happy where we are, you know I just like pretty things. I’m not even sure I want to get married,” she said lamely.

“Oh,” he said, his expression still inscrutable. “I mean...that’s cool?”

“I mean maybe someday? But, like, I know you’ve done it before and everything, so you know, if you don’t want to go down that path, I get it. But like, it’s too early to be having this conversation anyway.”

“Yeah, I’ve done it before but it wasn’t with the right person. But that doesn’t mean I’m opposed in general, maybe someday. Just want to be more careful next time,” he said, taking her hand. “Take it slower, go through the other steps of the relationship properly.”

Relief coursed through her, and she let out a little huff of a sigh. “That’s good to hear.”

He tugged her closer to him, and she dropped her head onto his shoulder. “So, I’m gonna try not to be so nosy from now on, but I’m glad we’re on the same page. But I gotta know, sweetheart, was there really a surprise or were you just trying to distract me?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” she teased, already mentally hitting the checkout button on the Hawkeye dog toys she’d seen on Etsy. She wasn’t sure whether Clint or Lucky would be more excited, but she couldn’t wait to find out.


	19. Yes, I admit it, you were right.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy messes up but Clint makes it better.

Darcy let out a little moan of disappointment when she saw the rope across the door, indicating the gallery had closed for the night. She was sure she’d read that the exhibit on modern American women’s folk art was open till 9:00 on Thursdays, but a quick word with the docent confirmed that she’d missed her chance. There were only a few days left to see the pieces, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to make it in again before they shut it down.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Clint said, slinging an arm around her shoulders. She tried not to bristle at his touch; he’d said the sign out front said the exhibit closed at 8, but she’d ignored him and dawdled around the rest of the museum just to prove a point.

“Yes, I admit it, you were right,” she said with a sneer. “Go ahead and say ‘I told you so.’”

“Hey, come on, I know you were excited for this,” he said, hurt coloring his tone. “I’m not that much of a dick. Am I?”

She sagged against him. “You really aren’t, I’m just being petty. Sorry.”

She peered into the darkened gallery, but it was impossible to see any of the displays. Growing up in western Pennsylvania, then going to college in the Appalachian mountains in Virginia, Darcy had discovered a fondness for folk art. She’d been to several museums and galleries over the years, but to have an exhibit right there in Manhattan was a treat, or it would have been if she’d seen the flyer more than a week before the museum rotated out the collection. 

“Maybe there’s a book or something in the gift shop,” he suggested, steering her away gently and nodding at the docent as they left. He was right--_ again _, she sniped internally--and she left with a bag full of merchandise and a membership to the museum. Clint had insisted, so she wouldn’t miss out on future events. She apologized again and thanked him for coming along even though it wasn’t his cup of tea.

“Just happy to be where you are,” he drawled. “Got to follow my own work of art around, can’t beat that.”

She groaned at the cheesy line, but rewarded it with a kiss, and spent the rest of the evening curled up on the couch looking at the books he’d bought her.

Friday afternoon, she got a text from Clint saying he’d meet her at her office at 5:30. She dawdled after Dr. G went home, straightened up her desk and watered all the plants, killing time till he called to say he was downstairs. There was a car waiting for them, one of Tony’s drivers -- unfortunately not driven by her friend Britt -- and he hustled her into the backseat. Half an hour later, they pulled to a stop in a familiar neighborhood. 

“Leave your stuff,” he said, indicating the bags she’d brought down from the office. “Zack is ours for the night.”

They stepped out onto the street in front of the museum.

“I thought they closed at six on Fridays,” she said, checking her phone -- it was a few minutes past.

“Thought you’d like a private tour,” he said in a casual tone that belied his nerves; she could see his fingers drumming against his thigh.

“Clint! This is-- how’d you pull this off?”

“Turns out they’re willing to accommodate their donors’ special requests.” At her incredulous look, he waved a hand. “S’not like they’re gonna name a wing after me, I just gave enough to convince them to let us have an hour in the folk art rooms.”

“Babe. Baby. Thank you, this is incredible.” She was already tugging him towards the entrance; the man at the door greeted them with a quiet hello.

Clint had been determined to hang back out of her way and let Darcy explore to her heart’s content, but she kept making comments and sharing tidbits of information, pointing out features and artist’s trademarks. They spent several minutes staring at an intricately embroidered chair cushion, trying to find the hidden spider in the image. When Clint finally pointed it out, she couldn’t help but gasp -- she’d never have spotted it on her own, and would have had to resort to the cheat sheet hidden under the information display. 

“How long did it take you to find it?”

“Not long,” he confessed, “but I didn’t want to spoil your fun.”

They drifted around the rest of the exhibit, taking in the last few pieces, and Darcy thanked everyone profusely as they left; there was still a skeleton crew of staff, and the janitorial workers were clearly waiting for the two of them to clear out before they could finish for the night. Clint whisked her off to dinner down the street before Zack drove them back to Brooklyn.

“Hey,” she said as they climbed into bed, “I was a real jerk to you yesterday, and you were so patient with me. Thanks for...all that. I mean, for tonight, which was unreal and like the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me, but also just for being nice to me when I didn’t deserve it.”

“Okay, well, you always deserve people being nice to you, but you’re welcome. I was kind of worried you'd think it was too much. It was actually kind of fun watching you in there, listening to you talk about all this stuff I would never have paid attention to.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” she promised, yawning as she snuggled into him. “Tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, flicking off the lamp. “But breakfast in bed would be a good start.”


	20. You could talk about it, you know?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy redecorates! Clint has flashbacks! It's not nearly as exciting as those exclamation points make it sound!

“Babe,” Darcy wheedled, “not that I don’t love your whole...aesthetic, but how would you feel if I redecorated? Just, like, one room.”

Clint glanced around the apartment, taking in the decor, or lack thereof. Sure, he’d bought nice high-quality furniture, but in the months between buying the building and Darcy moving in, he hadn’t made a lot of headway in actually making the place feel like home. Which was kind of stupid, considering it was basically his first permanent residence; as nice as the Tower had been, it definitely still felt like Tony’s.

“I mean, yeah, have at it. Where do you wanna start?”

“The bathroom, for sure.” Darcy had  _ plans _ for that bathroom, with its claw-foot tub and clean white tile. It got the morning sun, and she’d seen a great board on Pinterest for similar spaces. Some ice-blue paint on the accent wall, a couple leafy plants in neutral pots, just a couple pops of color was all it needed.

She threw herself into the project, ordering new towels and a shower curtain and all-white accessories for the vanity. When Clint got called away for a quick SHIELD trip, she decided that painting was the perfect thing to fill a couple evenings. By the time he got back to the city, she was ready for the big reveal.

Clint was not enthused.

Darcy tried not to let the hurt show, but his lackluster reaction was sort of a bummer. It was fine, maybe he just didn’t get excited about decor, but she was trying to make the apartment feel like home, and he apparently didn’t care at all.

A couple weeks later, she came up behind him in the bathroom; from that angle, he couldn’t see her reflection in the mirror, and he didn’t bother to hide his grimace.

“We can change it back,” she said dully. “It’s your apartment, you shouldn’t have to hate your bathroom so much.”

“It’s not— it’s the color, it reminds me of Loki.” He screwed his mouth into a rueful smile. “You somehow got it exactly. Like he’s back in my head every time I step in here, and that’s not something I ever want to be reminded of.”

“Oh, god, babe, why didn’t you say so before?”

“Well it’s not just  _ my _ apartment,” he protested. “It looks really nice, it’s just the blue.”

Darcy promised to order new paint and pick it up on the way home. “I know you don't want to dwell on it,” she said carefully, “but you could talk about it, you know? If you ever need to.”

Clint assured her that his therapy sessions were adequate. “Don’t wanna put that on you, but I appreciate the offer. Sorry to make you redo all your hard work.”

“Eh, all this white was already getting to be a pain to keep clean. Think I’ll go with gray instead, and get a patterned shower curtain. Plus, now you can help me paint.”

“Lucky me,” he deadpanned. Still, that night as they taped off the edges and re-redecorated, she was pretty sure it wasn’t just the paint fumes making them so giddy. It was working together and compromising and sharing a little more about themselves.

As they surveyed their handiwork, she couldn’t help but think,  _ Maybe the real aesthetic is the friends we make along the way _ .


	21. Change is annoyingly difficult.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late for work.

The phone was ringing as Darcy hustled to her desk, dropping her purse and lunch bag on the floor as she made a mad grab for the receiver.

“REFgen, Darcy speaking,” she gasped out, afraid she was too late.

“Darcy? You okay?”

“Sorry, Dr. G,” she said, her face flushing from embarrassment now rather than exertion. “Didn’t think I’d make it to the phone on time.”

For that matter, she almost hadn’t made it to her desk in time; it was 8:29, and her boss had scheduled this call to check in from her vacation. Darcy was on relaxed hours for the week, except for this one appointment she’d nearly missed.

“Turns out change is annoyingly difficult,” she explained, her breathing getting back to normal.

“Did you go to your old office again?” At least Dr. Garcia was teasing her about it, instead of getting frustrated.

“It’s so embarrassing, boss, it’s just because I had spin this morning and I was on autopilot coming from the gym. But enough about me, how’s Madrid? Are you having fun?”

The women chatted about the food and weather and tourist sites for a few minutes, confirmed the return itinerary for that weekend, and Dr. G signed off so she could have a siesta before she continued her travels. She’d basically just wanted to make sure everything was running smoothly and that Darcy had remembered to register her for a workshop in the city later that month. Darcy felt like it could have been handled by email, but maybe her boss had a right to be worried considering she’d been almost-late the past three Tuesdays because her dumb brain kept trying to take her to her old temp job when she left the gym.

When sent Dr. G the confirmation for the workshop, she was gratified to get an email in response saying, “I don’t mean to hover and I trust you! Thanks for taking care of this!” Maybe her autopilot sometimes led her a little astray, but she always ended up right where she was meant to be.


	22. We could have a chance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shawarma Chameleons tackle quiz night.

The problem with being internationally recognized superheroes-slash-occasionally undercover agents was that it made it really hard to have a normal night out on the town. Depending on which of the team was free and willing to go out, they ended up in a variety of nightspots: high-end clubs with VIP rooms when Tony was around, sports bars when Sam and Steve got to pick, karaoke rooms for Clint and Natasha (and, surprisingly, Thor). Darcy’s favorites were the pub nights that Bruce instigated, a handful of them clustered around a small table knocking back pints and enjoying each others’ company.

When the stars all aligned, they ended up at the pub on trivia night. They’d pick a silly team name, huddle together deliberating their answers, and usually come out somewhere in the middle of the pack; they tended to do well on science and geography, and Darcy could usually handle the US politics and pop culture questions, but whenever Thor came along they mostly just ended up in helpless giggles. She knew he was being deliberately obtuse, tossing out ridiculous answers just to make them laugh, and she was pleased they’d been able to maintain their friendship despite how his relationship with Jane had ended.

The first time they convinced Bucky to come along to quiz night, Darcy whooped in delight. “We could have a chance at winning this time!”

“Ouch,” Bruce said, wincing theatrically. Clint just pinched her side, which made her yelp.

“I’m just saying! We’ve got seven PhDs here and a couple key players in international relations--well, a few key players now, I guess, but Bucky’s got the history piece covered.”

“You know I still don’t remember half of that stuff, right?” He sounded uncertain.

“Yeah, but since you moved into the Tower you’ve been, like, mainlining information on everything that’s happened in the last seventy years,” she explained. “Doesn’t your supersoldier brain retain everything once you hear it?”

Bucky shrugged, and Nat shot him an amused look. “No pressure.”

Clint sprang for the first round of drinks, then wedged himself in beside Darcy. They’d ended up in the coveted half-circle booth in the back corner: it was the best for conspiring over answers, plus it meant no one could sneak up behind them and they were able to have eyes on the whole room. Darcy was in the middle, flanked by Clint and Bucky, with Nat and Bruce on the outsides. She squeezed Clint’s thigh under the table, knowing he’d prefer Nat’s seat because it was a faster escape route. He gave her a rueful grin and shoved the answer sheet over to her.

“Alright, team,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “Let’s do this.”

They made it through the first few rounds easily scoring near the top, and when Bruce came back with more drinks before the second half of the competition, Darcy was trying to tamp down her glee. In the half dozen or so times they’d made it out for quiz night, they had never done quite this well before.

Three rounds later, the Shawarma Chameleons were in the top three teams of the night. The quizmaster had confirmed that no one else would be able to catch up, and Bruce offered Darcy a high five across the table.

After ten more questions, Darcy let out a cheer as they were named the victors. She nearly upended the empty glasses scattered around the table, throwing her arms in the air, and she planted a kiss on Bucky’s cheek before turning to smile up at Clint, who was watching her with a fond expression. The quizmaster came over with their cash prize, and while the others were gathering their things and getting into their jackets, Darcy dumped the money into the tip jar sitting on the bar.

“Wait,” Bucky said, “what were you so excited about if you didn’t even want the prize?”

“Just the satisfaction of winning,” she said, “and being here with my friends.”

“Aw, doll, I didn’t know you were such a softy.”

“Just the way I like her,” Clint said, coming up behind her to help her into her coat. “You realized you’re never gonna get out of trivia night now, right Barnes?”

Bucky just shrugged, and Darcy knew she’d found another convert.


	23. You can’t give more than yourself.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy is under attack by that old Sarah McLachlan SPCA ad.

When Clint got home, Darcy had her face buried in Lucky’s fur, her arms around his neck as they curled together on the couch. She was sniffling quietly, and her eyes were wet and red. 

“Oh shit, Darce, what happened?” He dropped down next to the couch, his face full of concern.

She held up her phone and let out a bitten-off sob. “I was watching videos of soldiers coming back home and seeing their dogs, and it made me so happy, but then one of those Sarah McLachlan SPCA ads came up on the playlist, and it’s so  _ sad _ .”

To his credit, Clint didn’t show even a hint of amusement. He just wrapped her up in a hug, Lucky between them, and let her cry for a minute.

“And then—” she hiccuped, “I was thinking about the dogs I was walking at the shelter when we broke up, and how I just  _ abandoned _ them when we got back together and I didn’t even give the shelter money instead, I just stopped being involved.” 

She’d worked herself back into a tizzy, and Clint pressed a careful kiss to her forehead before rising to get her some water. When she’d calmed down enough to drink it, he nudged her over so he could climb behind her on the couch. She settled back into his embrace, her breath still hitching occasionally.

“Darcy, honey, you can’t give more than yourself. You’ve got—we’ve all got to figure out our priorities, and sometimes we don’t see them right away, sometimes we gotta step away for some reason to figure out what matters.”

She murmured something intelligible, shifting against his chest.

“So if you wanna walk dogs again, or if you want to donate to the shelter or whatever, let’s find a way to make that happen, yeah?”

Lucky’s ears perked up when Clint said  _ walk, _ but he just scratched the dog’s head and held Darcy a little tighter.

“How’d you get all worked up over this anyway, sweet girl? Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, “it’s dumb but sometimes I just want to cry. Like not because something’s wrong, it just feels good. That SPCA video just threw me I guess. Things are so good right now and I just feel bad for all the animals?”

“You got a big heart, huh?” he said softly, smoothing her hair down.

“You’re just glad I’m not crying over something you did,” she teased, hoping to draw them out of the gloomy mood she’d cast.

“Oh, definitely,” he agreed. “Let’s find some more of those videos, I like the ones where they show up at ballgames.”

They spent the next little while cuddled together watching families reunite, and if Clint let out the occasional sniffle himself, well, Darcy wouldn’t say a word.


	24. Patience… is not something I’m known for.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patience is a virtue, Clint! Fluff.

“Now?”

“No.”

“C’mon!”

“You can wait another minute, can’t you?”

“Darce, _ please _.”

“Be patient, baby,” she sang, a smirk on her face.

“Patience...is not something I’m known for.”

“I promise it’ll be worth it.”

Clint sighed and dropped his head back against the cushion, glaring at Darcy. The effect was somewhat ruined by the sparkly purple sheen on his skin. The kitchen timer on the coffee table finally dinged, and Clint leapt up gleefully and ran to the bathroom.

“It’s like a horror movie,” he said in pleased revulsion, already tugging at the peel-off mask. She nudged him with her hip so she could watch too, both of them pulling strips of tacky purple off their skin, making gruesome faces at one another in the mirror.

When they finished, she patted his face clean with a warm washcloth, then swatted his ass to move him back into the living room. He flopped back down on the couch and let her straddle him so she could apply the soothing serum that was the final step in the beauty routine.

“Totally worth the wait, right, babe?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he groused, eyes closed under her gentle touch. “Can’t believe you women are hiding all the fun stuff.”

“Next time, we’ll do pedicures. I’ve got a sparkly purple nail polish with your name all over it.”


	25. I could really eat something.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy deals with a nightmare. (Clint helps.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-SAL.

Darcy woke abruptly, shaking and sweating, and pulled herself out of Clint’s grasp. He looked blearily at her, but she just whispered, “Bathroom,” and padded off in the dark.

Another goddamn nightmare. It had been weeks since the last one, months since the one before that. They’d been so frequent in the aftermath of the warehouse incident, had flared up again when she and Clint got back together, and now only occasionally was she reminded of what had happened, the fear and adrenaline and guilt welling up in the corners of her brain. 

The dreams had taken a different turn once she and Clint had renewed their relationship. Instead of imagining he got hurt or killed, now she created scenarios where he left her in the warehouse instead. Usually the bad guys were still incapacitated, like they’d left them that afternoon, but sometimes he abandoned her to whatever tortures they could dream up. She always awoke before anything happened, but watching him walk away was bad enough.

Darcy was still too alert to try and slip back into sleep, so she left the bedroom door cracked and went to bundle herself up on the couch in the dark. She rested her head against the cushions, staring at nothing, which was at least better than closing her eyes and seeing her nightmares again. After a few minutes, Clint followed her out, rubbing at his eyes and flipping on the under-cabinet lights in the kitchen. 

He rummaged through the fridge, pulling out cheese and chicken and tortillas and salsa. Darcy watched silently until he looked over at her, then twisted her mouth into a half-smile.

“Nightmare,” he explained. “I could really eat something. Takes my mind off things, finding something to do.”

Her heart sank a little. He knew, then.

“Want one?”

“Yes, please,” she answered softly. 

While the quesadillas cooked, he poured a couple glasses of water and brought them over to the coffee table. He brushed a kiss over her hair as he passed back towards the kitchen, and she reached out to grab his wrist for a minute, just holding him there where she could see and feel him.

They ate quietly; she waited for him to ask why she was up, but he just worked his way through the late-night snack, cheese trailing from his mouth with every bite.

“You ever make pizza quesadillas?” she asked.

“Never occurred to me, believe it or not, but I’ll definitely pick up some supplies next time I buy groceries. You wanna talk about it?”

“Dreamed I lost you,” she said lightly, setting her plate down so she could crawl over and wriggle underneath his arm. He sagged a little, then squeezed her shoulders.

“That’s not gonna happen again, Darce, not if I have anything to say about it.”

“I know, my brain just forgets it sometimes.”

They sat in silence for several minutes, before Darcy asked, “Did you really have a nightmare too or were you just being nice?”

“I’ve had plenty,” he said with a shrug. “I hear you sometimes when you’re dreaming, and this sounded like a bad one but I didn’t want to pry. But then you didn’t come back. Wake me up next time, yeah?”

She nodded against his shoulder. “You too. I’ll make snacks next time, I can do....” She trailed off, trying to think of something she could cook that wouldn’t be a disaster.

“You in the kitchen is a whole separate nightmare, you know that, right,” he teased. “You just be here, I’ll make the snacks, we’ll figure it out. You wanna go back to bed?”

“Let’s just stay here a little longer,” she said, settling against him more firmly. Curled up together as the sky lightened to morning, Darcy had a feeling she’d had her last nightmare for a while.


	26. You keep me warm.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NYE!

For their first New Year’s Eve together, Clint and Darcy went all out: dinner, drinks, and dancing at the Tower, surrounded by all their friends, dressed up to the nines. It was exhausting. Tony was a hell of a host, of course, and Pepper had planned the shit out of the party, and they were staying in Clint’s former apartment afterwards. It was fun, but by 11 Darcy couldn’t help but wish they were anywhere else. It was just so _much_.

Clint and Natasha were out on the dance floor, moving so fast Darcy could hardly see their feet. Between training for undercover ops and their respective histories as very limber athletes, they were the smoothest couple in the room, and when Nat twirled them over to the edge of the floor, both Darcy and Sam shied away. 

“No way am I competing with a circus acrobat,” Sam refused with a wide grin. He motioned Nat over to the bar. “But I will get my woman another drink.” 

Clint tugged at Darcy’s arm, and as the music shifted to a slower song, she let him pull her around the floor in a simple box step. They ended up over by the terrace, and he led her outside with a wink, out to the relative quiet of the balcony. From that high up they couldn’t hear much of the revelry on the streets, just the muted noise of their party muffled by the terrace doors. She leaned against the balcony railing, facing the city, and she shivered when Clint’s arms bracketed her body.

“Havin’ fun, sweet thing?” Clint dropped a kiss to her shoulder, where her sparkly gold dress left her skin exposed. “Didn’t mean to leave you alone out there. Been a long time since me and Nat got to dance like that.”

“I wasn’t alone, I was with Sam. And it was fun watching you two, you move so well together.” She turned to look up at him. “But it’s nice to be out here with you now. ”

“Our own private party, yeah?”

“Private except for how anyone who looks through those doors can see us, so don’t get any ideas, mister. But, yeah, that party is...a lot.”

He let out a hmph. “You look amazing tonight, did I tell you that?”

“You did, but it’s always nice to hear,” she quipped, then laughed when he nibbled at her ear playfully.

“Gorgeous,” he said, kissing her shoulder again. “Breathtaking, beautiful, incredible.” 

She shivered again, and not entirely from the cold.

“Annnd, underdressed. Sorry, sweetheart, let’s go inside and get you warm.”

“You keep me warm,” she countered, finally turning all the way around so her back was to the city. “Gimme another minute out here. You look pretty good yourself, you know. Like, Yowza Hot.”

His lips twitched, and she pulled him in close. “It’s a real thing, Clint. The Darcy Lewis Ten-Point Hotness Scale. You’re always at least a ‘Damn,’ that’s like an eight.”

“What’s Yowza Hot?”

“Like a twelve?”

“On a ten-point scale?”

She nodded against his chest, felt him smile against her temple. “What can I say, I have good taste. And I failed Stats.”

“Next time we’ll ring in the new year just the two of us,” he promised. “I’ll wear a tux and you wear a pretty dress and we’ll go up on the roof with Lucky.”

“Sounds like a plan. As long as I get to get you out of the tux at some point.” She winked, silly and over-the-top.

“You’d be a lot more convincing if your lips weren’t turning blue,” he teased, tugging her back inside. “Come on, 45 more minutes, then we can go make out.”

“Begin the year as we mean to go on,” she agreed, laughing as he began spinning her around the floor like they’d never left.


	27. Can you wait for me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint gets called away, Darcy is worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in some undetermined time during SAL. 
> 
> Not AOS compliant in terms of timeline or whatever. In terms of anything. But my headcanon is that when Phil needs them, Clint and Natasha will always be there.

With Darcy firmly ensconced in Clint’s life, she couldn’t help but overhear things: SHIELD ops, Avengers missions, hints of international espionage. It was never anything serious, or at least she never had enough details to put together a full picture of anything he was doing with his teams; occasionally she’d piece it together after the fact, when news reports came in about strange happenings around the world, but for the most part, ignorance was bliss.

Sometimes, though, when she was in Clint’s apartment in Stark Tower, he’d get a call and his face would go grim and he’d mouth an apology as he walked off to a more private location. She quickly figured out those were SHIELD-related calls, stuff that wasn’t always quite as clear-cut and straightforward as the work the Avengers did. She’d give him his space, pause whatever they were doing, and find another way to occupy her time while she waited for him to get off the phone. The calls usually meant he’d be leaving immediately, gone for days at a time, and doing something dangerous. Most of the time she was...not fine with it, per se, but accepting. This was his job and he was good at it, and he worked with competent and capable people. He never seemed worried, just sorry he had to leave her at a moment’s notice.

The first time she saw him look flustered on one of those calls, she nearly begged him not to leave. He’d picked up the secure phone with a brusque, “Barton,” but his tone changed immediately when he heard whatever was on the other end. He didn’t even make it into the hallway before he began getting ready to move out.

“Can you wait for me? I can be up in three.”

He was already stuffing his feet into his boots, scooping up the go bag hanging by the door. She knew it contained a tac suit and basic gear, minor weapons, and first aid supplies. His bow and a quiver were hanging next to the bag; everything else he might need would already be on the Quinjet. He’d strapped all three items across his chest in a matter of moments. It was like he was on autopilot, and as he turned to survey the room he seemed startled by Darcy’s presence on the couch.

“Shit. I gotta go, Nat’s on the roof.” His hands were shaking.

“Babe, are you okay?” She got up and walked slowly toward him.

“It’s Phil. JARVIS, need an express elevator to the roof.”

“It’s waiting in the lobby,” the AI replied. “I’ll lock up behind Ms. Lewis when you leave.”

He grimaced. “Stay, if you want. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’m sorry, Darce.”

“Go,” she urged, finally pressing forward to kiss him briefly. “Come back safe. I’m not going anywhere.”

She spent a couple restless, worried days at loose ends, commuting from the Tower to her office at RefGEN; she felt out of place, considering they’d only been back together a month, but she didn’t want to be away if Clint came back unexpectedly. On the fourth day after he left, Clint called her and said he was on his way home. Darcy couldn’t leave work early, but at least the walk from the office was short.

Clint was in the shower when she arrived, and she didn’t hesitate to strip down and climb in with him; she wasn’t looking for physical gratification, just to give and receive comfort. She wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressed against him in the warm water, he sagged into her embrace for a long moment. “Did you ma-- is Agent Coulson okay?”

“Oh, god, yeah, Darce,” he breathed out, and she huffed a relieved sigh.

“I’m sorry, beautiful, I should have let you know that right away. I mean, he ended up, uh,” Clint choked on the words, and Darcy laid a gentle hand against his back. “He lost his hand.”

She made a harsh noise of her own, and Clint turned off the water so they could climb out and continue the conversation more comfortably. Once they were dressed, on the couch with cups of coffee, he explained more. He hadn’t been able to check in because of the security protocols around Phil’s work.

“Phil has a good team, and he’s good at his job now, but it was hard for me and Tasha to see that. We didn’t even get to help out, not really, she just heard he was in trouble and, you know, there’s nothing we wouldn’t do for him. He was asleep a lot while we were there, and I couldn’t...it’s hard to think that we would have let that happen, if we were still backing him up.”

She didn’t answer, just stroked her fingers up and down his arm, brushing the soft golden fuzz there.

“I know things change, and I know that has been a really good thing for me,” he finally said, catching her hand and squeezing it softly. “It was just a tough few days. Helped knowing I got to come back home to you, though.”

“Like I said,” she replied, “I’m not going anywhere.”


	28. Enough! I heard enough.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dog Cops, Dog Cops, whatcha gonna do?

“Won’t you please, won’t you please, please won’t you be...a Dog Cop.”

Clint choked on his coffee, dribbling it down the front of his white t-shirt. Darcy was on the couch, serenading Lucky, her own coffee sitting forgotten on the side table as she cradled the dog’s face in her hands.

“You’re a Dog Cop after all, you’re a Good Dog Cop” went right into “It’s alright cuz I’m saved by the Dog Cop,” and he heard her tell the mutt, “Okay, that one needs work.”

“If you wanna be my Dog Cop, you gotta get with my friends,” she sang, and Lucky covered his face with his paws, but Darcy wasn’t deterred.

“No, dog, you know you can’t escape me, ooh, Lucky, cuz you’ll always be a Dog Cop.”

“Enough! I heard enough,” Clint said, finally coming in to rescue his pup from Darcy’s warbling. Lucky leapt off the couch to greet him, and curled up at his owner’s feet rather than sit back down where Darcy might sing at him some more.

“Uhhh, harsh,” she said, shifting so she could put her socked feet in Clint’s lap. He rested his coffee cup lightly on her ankle and tweaked her toe.

“What’s with the mashups?”

“That damn theme song is stuck in my head,” she groaned. 

“That’s what you get for bingeing season two while I was gone,” he reprimanded, sipping his coffee smugly.

“Yeah, well. I thought if I got another earworm going maybe I’d forget about  _ Who ya gonna call? Dog Cops! _ How are they even allowed to use that song? It’s cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to inflict it on me and Lucky,” Clint teased, the side of his mouth twitching. 

“Wow, rude, babe. Good thing you’re so handsome, I’m not really feeling the boyfriend skills right now.”

“Aw, come here, Darce, let me make it up to you.” She wriggled around so they were both horizontal, his head propped up on the armrest, her body tucked between him and the back cushions on the deep couch.

“Let’s listen to this instead.” He tapped at his phone for a few seconds, and she could already feel him shaking with silent laughter under her as the chorus of “Never Gonna Give You Up” began playing.

“You’re such a jerk,” she said, laughing into his chest.

“Never not funny,” he said, still chuckling. He tapped at his phone again. “But really, here.”

Three things happened simultaneously when the Dog Cops theme song came blaring through the speakers: Darcy groaned. Clint cackled. And Lucky got to his feet and trotted off to the bedroom, having finally decided that no amount of pets was worth the torture of hearing Darcy singing along, loud and off-key. Clint didn't seem to mind, though he quickly silenced her with a kiss. Darcy just smiled and mentally congratulated herself: _mission accomplished_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a deep and abiding love for the Ghostbusters song. Bustin' makes me feel good.


	29. I’m doing this for you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more smut to round out the series.

After Clint spent that memorable evening slowly taking her apart, Darcy thought it was high time she returned the favor. It took weeks for the stars to align so that Clint was home on an evening that Dr. G had taken a half-day and dismissed Darcy a couple hours early. 

She carefully shaved and waxed and groomed before she let Clint into the bedroom: rubbed sweet-smelling lotion into her skin, curled her hair, did her makeup, dressed in a silky pink negligee, lit candles around the room. When she finally opened the door and called him in, she could see his throat bob as he swallowed, lust already darkening his eyes.

“Holy hell, Darcy, you look...” His voice trailed off, and he just shook his head.

She gave him her best coy smile and led him over to the bed, where she had all the pillows propped up against the headboard. “You sit here,” she commanded.

Clint licked his lips and adjusted himself in his jeans before settling back into the cushions. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, trailing her hand over his arm as she walked away. She’d dragged an armchair out from the corner -- normally it was covered in their discarded clothes, but she’d cleaned it off and moved it to the foot of the bed. She sat down in it gracefully, leaning against the rounded back. “You always say you see better from a distance, but we’re always so  _ close  _ when we fuck. So I thought I’d let you watch from afar this time.”

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed out.

“Get comfortable,” she said, waving her hand as if she was granting him a wish. He unbuttoned his fly and reached down to grasp his cock, but didn’t take it out of his pants. “And keep your eyes on me, baby.”

She slowly spread her legs, propped one foot then the other on the edge of the bed, exposing herself to him, then closed her eyes. Darcy heard Clint’s breath catch; she was bare beneath the flimsy gown. She began lightly running her fingers over her chest and neck, drifting down to tease her nipples into hardness under the fabric. When she reached up to untie the string holding the halter around her neck, her tits spilled out, and Clint whimpered audibly. She teased herself -- and him -- a bit longer; she could already feel the wetness pooling, wondered if he could see it in her folds.

When she dipped her fingers down to explore, she realized there was no way he couldn’t know how aroused she was, hawk-like vision or not. She knew her cunt was glistening, hoped the flickering candles were reflected in her slick, used two fingers to hold herself open to increase the odds. With her other hand, she touched her clit gently, rubbing lightly over the nub until she shivered.

“Darcy, honey,” Clint choked out. “I need--”

She looked up at him, desperate at his end of the bed. He’d pulled his cock out, was stroking firmly; when she saw the glint of precome at the head, she figured the lighting was working in her favor as well.  _ Score one for Darcy, _ she thought smugly.

“What is it, baby? I’m doing this for you,” she crooned, not breaking eye contact as she slipped her middle finger inside. Clint’s gaze dropped, and his hand sped up on his cock.

“Wanna touch you, please.”

“Slow down,” she ordered, but there wasn’t much heat in the command. This was definitely a role reversal, and she was a little surprised when Clint complied. “If you can hold off till I come, then I’m all yours.”

Clint groaned and squeezed the base of his cock, trying to make himself last. His eyes drifted shut, and Darcy reminded him, “Eyes open, babe. I’m almost there.”

She sped up her own thrusting, two fingers inside, thumb on her clit, and finally bucked up off the chair, back bowed, feet braced on the bed.  _ Turns out you maybe have an exhibitionist streak? And also, good call on putting the towel on the chair, because that got messier than expected. _

Clint graciously gave her a good thirty seconds to come down before whining again, and Darcy climbed onto the bed on her hands and knees, crawling towards him, breasts swaying with each movement. His eyes were almost black as he lifted his hips to shed his jeans and boxers, kicking them down his legs and over the side of the bed. Darcy straddled him, sank right down onto his cock, and they both let out a heavy breath.

They were still for a long moment, content to fill and be filled, then Clint surged forward to kiss her. The movement pushed him deeper, mashed her clit against him, and she gasped. That was all he needed to start moving in earnest, punctuating each thrust with kisses and sharp exhalations and sweet words.

“Hottest thing-- ever seen-- jesus-- sweetheart--”

She held on to his shoulders, knees clamped tight around his hips, and fell over the edge again, panting in his ear. A few more thrusts and Clint followed, spilling inside her with a groan.

“Fuck,” he said weakly as she rolled off of him. He slid down the bed till he was horizontal, turned his head to look at her.

“Yeah,” she agreed, reaching out to lace their fingers together. “That was.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna go clean up,” she said, but he tugged at their joined hands till she leaned in for a kiss.

“Thanks for that, beautiful,” he murmured against her mouth. “Still not sure whether I see you better from a distance though, think we’re gonna have to try that a few more times.”


	30. I’m with you, you know that.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang visits a haunted house.

The thing about haunted houses, Darcy found, was that she was just too much of a baby to enjoy them. Like, sure, being startled could be fun, the adrenaline was thrilling, but that was for movies, not actual in-person experiences. The stuff like zombies and asylum scenes and, god, anything with clowns or fucked-up doctors, that was too much. 

Still, when Bucky and Steve asked her and Clint to come along to the benefit for the children’s hospital, Darcy agreed to face her fears and walk through the spooky space. There was a kids’ version and a grown-up version, and apparently the guys had thought she was kidding when she said she wanted to do the milder one.

So there she was, sandwiched between Bucky and Clint, trying not to have an anxiety attack every time some new creature got in her face. Steve was in the lead, but all the characters seemed to avoid him for some strange reason -- guess they figured a dude that jacked would be hard to frighten. They always leapt out at Darcy, and while Clint laughed at her expression the first couple times, he quickly realized she was genuinely not enjoying herself.

“Talk to me, Darce,” he said in her ear. His arm was wrapped tight around her waist; it made moving awkward, but she couldn’t deny she felt more secure.

“I got lost in one as a kid,” she explained to Clint, clutching his forearm as they wound through the creepy mirror room. “Got separated from my mom. I think it was only a few minutes, but it felt like forever, and this guy with a chainsaw kept coming at me.”

“Hey, I’m with you, you know that. Would it help to keep your eyes closed, just hold on to me and Buck till we get out?”

She could barely hear him over the maniacal laughter being pumped through the speakers overhead, but Bucky and Steve’s enhanced hearing made them turn around. Bucky looked particularly concerned, and Darcy felt silly for causing such a fuss. She shook her head, kept her eyes on the floor, but didn’t let go of Clint’s arm. 

They walked into the next room and she heard the telltale roar of a chainsaw; she glanced up in fear and saw Steve hold a hand up at the madman coming at them. The guy lowered his prop, looking pretty scared himself, and they ushered her through the last few rooms and out into the lobby.

Clint immediately wrapped her up in a big hug, and she sagged against him for a minute, embarrassed. Bucky quickly waved down her apologies, said he was sorry for dragging her out there in the first place. Steve walked away to get her something to drink and she let them fawn over her for several moments.

“I know it’s dumb, you guys face scarier stuff all the time. I just thought I could handle it now,” she said as they sat down for pizza a little while later. The four of them were jammed into a booth in the back corner, and Bucky and Steve’s elbows bumped every time one of them brought a slice up to their mouth.

“Remember me and the blue bathroom?” Clint gestured at the other two men. “And I bet these guys don’t take well to being cold, right?”

Bucky and Steve shared a wry smile. “JARVIS keeps the apartment pretty toasty,” Steve admitted.

She considered that for a moment. “Got it, no more intentionally triggering myself.”

“Atta girl,” Clint said, squeezing her thigh. Her mouth twitched. “What’s funny?”

“Did you see that guy with the chainsaw when Steve did his  _ son, just don’t _ move? He looked terrified,” she said, her giggle turning into a full-out laugh now that she was safe and warm and happy. The tips of Steve’s ears were turning red, and Bucky nudged him with his flesh arm.

“It’s his take-no-shit look,” Bucky said, “and he’s been perfecting it since at least the 1930s.”

“Usually on you,” Steve retorted, and Bucky shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Nat used to give me that look a lot,” Clint said around a mouthful of pizza.

“She still does,” the other three said in unison, bursting into laughter when Clint pouted.

“But a lot less often lately,” Steve acknowledged, tipping his head in Darcy’s direction. 

Clint bumped her with his arm, and she rested her head against his shoulder, listening to Bucky tell stories about Steve’s perpetual quest for justice while the men finished off the pizza. Maybe the scary stuff was worth it, if she got to have this too.


	31. Scared, me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedding bells are gonna chime.

“Deep breaths, baby,” Darcy said, trying to knot Clint’s tie. He scrunched up his face as he watched in the mirror. “You’re gonna do great, don’t be scared.”

“Scared, me?”

She looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “It’ll be over quick. The rehearsal lasted, what, 15 minutes last night? And that was with interruptions. Ten minutes up there, Steve will say some stuff, there will be vows and rings, and then it’s done and we get to party with all our friends.”

“What if I drop the rings?”

“Then you’ll pick them up and everyone will think it’s cute how flustered you are.”

“What if I trip going up the aisle?”

“Then we’ll pick _ you _up and everyone will think it’s cute how flustered you are.”

He made a dissatisfied noise, and they both turned to the door, relieved to see Phil walk in with Bucky trailing behind.

“Allow me?” Phil asked Darcy, already sliding into place in front of Clint to fix his tie.

“Phil, thank god you’re here. What if I drop the rings?” 

She heard Phil mutter a soothing response as she walked over to where Bucky stood, looking dapper in his suit, little red boutonniere already pinned to his lapel. 

“You supposed to be back here?” Bucky asked, running a hand through his hair.

“Are you?” She swatted at his hand. “Don’t muss it up. How’d you get to be best man anyway, I thought you two didn’t even like each other.”

Bucky shrugged, and nodded over to where Clint and Phil had finished. “Nat’s waiting, come on.”

She darted in to press a quick kiss to Clint’s mouth. “See you out there, babe. You look good.”

They made a pretty picture walking up the aisle, Clint and Phil on either side of Natasha, resplendent in a shimmery gold dress. Phil kissed her cheek and found his seat next to Darcy. Clint stood tall and handsome by his best friend as she turned to face Sam. Bucky’s hair had fallen into his face again, but he stood stoic, just offering Steve a wink as he began to officiate the ceremony.

“We’re gathered here today to witness the joining of Natalia Alianova Romanova and Samuel Thomas Wilson in holy matrimony,” Steve intoned. 

The ceremony was short and sweet, and the party afterwards was full of love and the finest champagne Tony could get his hands on. Clint didn’t drop the rings. 

(He did, however, have to crawl under the couch to retrieve the amethyst engagement ring he fumbled when he proposed to Darcy two months later. She said yes anyway.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end! Probably of this 'verse, at least for the foreseeable future. Thanks for reading!


End file.
